Legal Partners
by suitcase design winner
Summary: Miles Edgeworth isn't totally sure how he ended up in this bet to demonstrate the strength of his and Phoenix Wright's (entirely professional and platonic! really!) relationship, but he knows it's Klavier's fault.
1. Chapter 1

Miles Edgeworth was aware that he had wide-ranging and unpredictable interests. Language, judicial structure, tragically underappreciated thematic arcs in supposedly youth-oriented television shows, dog training strategies, sustainable tea farming methods? All had their own unique mental file drawer.

But what he really, truly loved was case precedent.

Oh, evidence was the guts of a case, but within a common law system, precedent determined which evidence would matter in the first place. If some approach had been disallowed by a previous case, knowledge of that decision could wipe out the defense's supposed ace in the hole. Conversely, proving some fact that the defense hadn't considered but could conceivably apply if viewed from the right angle? He understood why some people dreamed of going into architecture, because constructing a perfect argument on the perfect foundation of case precedent was _fun._

"I have never, ever met a bigger dork than you," said Phoenix Wright with that old, damnably huge smile.

The logical connections Miles had been developing flew apart, and he gave a short, irritated sigh. "You promised not to bother me."

"You were _grinning._ I didn't know your muscles worked that way!" Phoenix actually hopped up on the edge of Miles' desk and sat there. Miles looked between his desk, then Phoenix, then his desk, then Phoenix, and waited for him to take the hint. Phoenix pointedly ignored him. "You were grinning while you read a case on..." Just as pointedly, Phoenix ignored Miles' outraged squawk as Phoenix flipped his legal text around to read it himself. "Tenant agreements? It's not even about a _murder?_"

Miles spun the book back into place and glared over the rim of his glasses. "The other involved party in the case has set up primary residency in Washington State. There are contradictory state laws that apply to what is now their shared investment property in Reseda."

"Uh huh."

Oh, Wright could shut right the hell up. He loved resolving legal contradictions. "Which means the case will inevitably go to the 9th Circuit court and they will make a decision that sets precedent for the entire western part of the country."

"About tenant agreements."

"Yes."

"That's what you were grinning about."

"Yes."

"I have never, ever met a bigger dork than you."

"That's it," Miles said, stood, and pointed at his door. "Out."

"But you promised I could use your library," Phoenix said with an expansive gesture at the bank of bookcases, then at the books he had splayed on the table between the two settees.

"We both know your eyes glaze over as soon as you try to read those, Wright."

"Not as _soon_ as I try to read those," Phoenix corrected. His confidence wilted under Miles' level stare. "Just... when I start cross-referencing cases." Right. Because he pulled everything out of his hat in the thick of courtroom confrontations.

"Some of us actually work on a regular basis, Wright. Out."

"Fine," he relented and hopped up, although Phoenix made no other move to leave. "I _actually_ was looking through those while you finished working on this case, because I had something else to ask you and I promised I wouldn't let it wait."

"Which is?"

"Trucy wants you for her Trivial Pursuit team. Apparently we're doing Tuesday Game Nights and we need more people."

"Out."

"Oh, and what are you going to do otherwise on Tuesday nights?" Phoenix challenged. "Sit in your apartment alone and iron your frills?"

Miles bit down before he could snap back _Of course not, they're dry cleaned._ "My Tuesday nights are not of your concern."

"Come on," Phoenix wheedled. "You might try to hide it, but social contact does you good. You're always happy after we go to one of her shows. I can tell. I bet I even have a picture of you smiling."

God, but he was tenacious, and even moreso when he was fighting on someone else's behalf. "So let me get this straight," Miles said with a different strategy. "You're constructing some sort of 'game night' where a team of myself and your teenage daughter would square off against... yourself, Justice, and Cykes, I presume?"

"Yeah, sounds like it."

"That hardly seems fair." Miles smiled, though not in the way Phoenix wanted from him. "Wouldn't your team need another member to have a chance?" Phoenix chuckled despite himself and Miles pointed out, "Besides, you have four people. That divides well already, and I'm busy."

"You've been busy since you were—" Phoenix caught himself, but Miles knew what he'd been about to say: _since you were nine years old._ "You're always busy." It was a believable enough cover if one hadn't anticipated his original argument. But Miles knew that Phoenix was going to use the behavior harshly imposed upon him by von Karma as some sort of personal failing, as if he had _any_ right to do so, and this conversation was indeed over.

"Fine," Phoenix said glumly as Miles' stare chilled. "Enjoy your tenant agreements."

"I will. You know the way out." He sat and returned to his books, waiting for the sound of the closing door, but instead heard footsteps approaching. Irritated, he looked back up and saw Klavier Gavin in front of him rather than Phoenix making one last-ditch attempt to change his mind. "Gavin," he said, and schooled his voice free of any lingering annoyance. "What can I do for you? How's the Dawson case going?"

"That's what I stopped by to ask about," Klavier said with _something_ in his eyes and voice that Miles couldn't quite place. He slipped into German for his next question, in what was a more blatant trick than he thought for treating the two of them like they had some personal connection. "Could you please authorize opening the locked Reidman case files from '21? Incident code CR-14."

This was intriguing enough that Miles went along with Klavier's ploy and answered _auf Deutsch._ "You've found a connection between the two cases?" Although their personalities couldn't be more different and he often found the man's behavior slicker than an oil spill, he respected Gavin's legal mind. And, he acknowledged as he forced himself into supervisor mode, the same behavior that he personally found eyeroll-worthy was good for office morale.

(Though, taking Skye's side against Gavin in that complaint two months back had filled him with more glee than he was willing to publicly admit. Workplaces needed strict propriety.)

Klavier nodded. "From what I see in the public files, yes, I think so. But there're some confidential files that need your authorization, and the really good stuff might be in there."

Miles brought up the named case and scanned it quickly. He hadn't been around at the time and wasn't familiar with it, but trusted Gavin's judgment. Ah, it was a military contract on classified but now outdated research that had led to some of the files being sealed. Fair enough. "Approved," he said, entered Klavier's employee code for access, and typed in his authorization. "Let me know if you find anything." Klavier nodded but didn't leave, and so he asked in English, "Is there anything else I can help you with, Prosecutor Gavin?"

After hesitating, Klavier chuckled and shook his head. "Verzeihung, Herr Prosecutor." The man needed to pick one language and stick to it. "I didn't mean to..."

"Didn't mean to what?"

"I'll need to have a little chat with Herr Forehead this afternoon, I believe," Klavier said in good spirits.

Herr _who?_ Oh, right, his ridiculous nickname for Wright's younger associate. "I don't mind if you consult on some case aspects with your friends, so long as they're not assigned to the defense," Miles said, "but you of course realize that these new files are only authorized for your eyes."

"No worries there," Klavier promised. It looked like he was trying very hard to rein in the size of his smile. "I only want to say how fortunate he is to have me."

"All right, then," Miles said blankly. "Is that everything?"

"Ja. Thank you. I'll get back to work." Klavier bowed his head slightly and walked toward the door. As he passed the settees, his gaze snapped to the books that Phoenix had left open. He chuckled.

_Wait a second._ "Hold it, Prosecutor," Miles said and walked toward Klavier. "Were you listening to my personal conversation before you came in?"

"Not much," Klavier promised. "I was only waiting until the room was clear so that I didn't interrupt you. I heard you talking with Mr. Wright and..." He grinned, all slouchy twenty-something and tanned and confident and _annoying._ "Justice is lucky to have such a friendly person as myself paired up with him. It feels like Wright might be made of..." He frowned and considered his words. "Sterner stuff, after everything he's seen at his age."

_At his age? That's my age, too._ "Paired?" Miles settled on asking with a warning tone. He didn't care what his subordinates did in their personal time, but this wasn't a professional conversation to be holding.

"Forehead's my favorite defense attorney," Klavier said. "Call us what you will, friends or rivals or..." He spread his hands and shrugged. _I don't like the possibilities of that 'or,' Gavin, because it feels like you're about to include me in whatever soap opera you're writing._ "And everyone knows that Wright is yours."

Yes, they had indeed been heading for that speculation. "Wright is not _mine_," Miles said in a huff. "Yes, he's my favorite legal partner, but..."

Oh, god. 'Legal partner' had been the wrong phrasing. Gavin was grinning again.

Miles jammed his arms under each other and glowered at Klavier. If he couldn't defend, he'd attack. "And if you think your short association with Justice remotely compares to my _entirely platonic_ and near-lifelong history with Wright, perhaps I should reconsider my assessment of your research skills. You are dismissed."

"I struck a nerve, apologies. I'll get back to work."

"I have put my life in his hands," Miles said when Klavier was almost out the door, "and... retaking the Bar... he..." What was _wrong_ with him? He didn't need to justify himself to this man. And he was irritated with Phoenix, besides. But still, to hear that Justice and Gavin supposedly had any sort of superior relationship was just _ridiculous!_ That was all. He hated when people were wrong.

"A very tender nerve," Klavier said with that same loose smile. "Apologies again. I was clearly mistaken. I'm just an open sort of person, I suppose. If I like someone, I let them know without any doubt."

"Not that it is any business of yours, but Wright is perfectly clear on my feelings toward him."

"Ja," Klavier said with mock seriousness. "I heard."

_Oof._ Was there any law against blatantly fake tans? _There should be. And cut your hair. Or untwirl it. And stop grinning all the time!_

"You seem convinced of what you're saying," Klavier allowed. Though he sounded sincere, there was still something that Miles couldn't quite identify under his voice and smile. A certain sharp strain of amusement? "And I'm willing to admit when I'm wrong. I'm sure you could show me exactly that, ja?"

"Show you?" Miles repeated uncertainly.

"You can't make an argument without evidence." Klavier tilted his head. "So what about a little wager? Whoever can show their favorite defense attorney that they appreciate them more as a... legal partner will win."

"A wager?" This was absurd. _And don't say legal partner again._

"Never mind. Just an idea," Klavier said lightly, like he had never even considered that Miles would actually go for the suggestion. "I suppose it's not the type of thing you'd want to prove. It doesn't seem very... proper, nein?"

Aha, that was the kind of amusement he'd been showing: knowing that Miles would back down and Gavin would win this argument by default. "Your proposal is unacceptable," Miles said and saw the grin beginning anew. The grin fell as he continued, replaced by surprise on Klavier's certainly surgically-adjusted face. (And to think, people called _Miles_ a pretty boy. Hmph.) "At least, in its original form. We would need some neutral party to judge the outcome, and wagers typically have some prize beyond the simple satisfaction of victory. As well, there should be a specified duration or limited number of attempts. I expect my prosecutors to form their arguments more fully before they speak, Gavin. You disappoint me." If Klavier could play up his laid-back persona, well, Miles had a famous personality of his own.

"Fair enough. We'll submit judges' names for mutual agreement, give it two weeks, and what do you say to the loser buying the winner dinner?" Klavier asked.

"Agreed. Is there to be any cap on spending?"

Klavier considered it. "We're both hardly short on money, so..." He shrugged. "If you feel cash is the best way to Wright's heart, I suppose it should be left open to you."

Oho, the dismissive subtext there. "No spending cap, then," Miles said and held out his hand. "I expect a list of possible neutral judges before you leave today."

Klavier shook his hand disbelievingly, like the Miles Edgeworth in front of him might vanish into mist. "And the same from you?" he asked.

"Of course. And they can't know about this wager, naturally."

"Of course. Then I'm back to work on the Dawson case, I suppose." Klavier, bemused, actually waved as he left. "Tschau."

Miles pursed his lips as he watched Klavier close the door behind him, and strode back to his desk with purposeful steps.

Precedent and evidence was always key to winning any argument.

Considering how much more he and Phoenix had of both, this would be simple.


	2. Chapter 2

The first decision about the judge was the easiest: no fellow prosecutors. "Who would risk telling the boss that he'd lost, ja?" Klavier said. "Especially when you take winning so very, very seriously."

Miles grimaced as he accepted his drink from the barista. (He'd ordered coffee, despite what casual acquaintances might assume. The coffeeshop next to their office used perfectly roasted beans, yet thought that a proper cup of tea could be made by dunking a bag in hot water.) Some reputations lasted far longer than was deserved. It had been years since he did absolutely anything for a victory. And if he still preferred to win, well, who enjoyed losing?

"I completely agree that we should disallow everyone I supervise," Miles said, though he privately suspected that many might be far less favorable toward him than Klavier expected. He was certain that the biggest sticking point in his appointment to Chief Prosecutor had been raised by Winston Payne and his jealousy over not being considered. Even with innocence proven, seven years had been a long time for the legal community to get used to the image of a disbarred, dishonored, and disheveled Phoenix Wright. Miles convincing him to retake the Bar had been vaguely scandalous. Miles _studying_ with him had nothing 'vaguely' about it, and he'd had to prove that there was absolutely no way for even a High Prosecutor to gain access to that copy of the exam.

No, Miles had no problem with rejecting the people in their office. "We'll keep any supervisory pressure out of it. I want you to accept my win as a fair and just decision, after all," he said and sipped his macchiato.

Klavier smirked over the rim of his coffee. (Black, with ungodly amounts of sugar.) "You're very confident for someone who once tried to get your friend convicted of murder." His smile became positively angelic as Miles glowered.

"If we're lobbing accusations," Miles said coldly, "you have done far more to damage him."

"Fair enough, regrettably... but it's not my relationship with Mr. Wright that's under discussion, ja?" Klavier's eyes crinkled again as he sipped his coffee-flavored sugar.

Urgh. Gavin and Justice's relationship might be less _epic_, to use the most historic form of the word, but they also had fewer weak spots to prod. "Who else is on your list?" Miles asked, glad he hadn't gone for that biscotti. It was the end of a long day and he was looking forward to leaving the entire vicinity of his workplace once their bet was finalized. As soon as it was finalized.

"Lucinda with the curly hair, Monique with the beautiful eyes, and—"

"Who are these women?" Miles asked. Even without the third name, he was certain that they were all women.

Klavier turned a brilliant smile toward the baristas behind the counter. One, who actually blushed, had a vintage Gavinners pin among a dozen others on her apron. "Completely neutral parties," he said with a satisfied grin as he turned back to face Miles.

"You have a strange definition of 'neutral,'" Miles grumbled.

"You're not unattractive," Klavier said. "I might have that star quality, but there is no reason for you not to be popular with them as well, nein? Besides, a bit of attraction toward one party or the other shouldn't unduly weight their judgment. And I must admit, to the ladies you might have a bit of the..." He squinted, seeking the right term. "Sexy librarian look?"

He was clearly doing this on purpose to rattle Miles. Well, with the opening Klavier had just left, Miles could rattle him right back. "So: we've agreed that we cannot approach anyone who reports directly to me, and will allow for some level of personal feelings toward one or both involved parties so long as they can effectively analyze the evidence we present them."

"Ja! So we'll ask Lucinda," Klavier said.

"Incorrect."

"...Monique?"

Miles cleared his throat. "There's another consideration: to assess our efforts' effect on the targeted parties, the judge must have knowledge of their typical responses and moods." He let himself smile as broadly as any of Klavier's gloating grins. "We will ask Ema Skye."

Klavier wasn't grinning any more. "Ema?" he asked in disbelief. "I still hear her being teased about some old crush on you!" A crush which, despite his very best efforts, Klavier had never been able to duplicate toward him.

"A bit of attraction toward one party or the other shouldn't unduly weight her judgment. Right?" Mmm. Their coffee really was delicious. Miles reveled in his temporary victory for another beat, then set his mug down and studied Klavier. "Then perhaps we should take a different tactic and involve two judges: one who is likely to be favorable to me and one who is likely to be favorable to you."

"That sounds... possible," Klavier said, though he didn't offer any names. He clearly couldn't argue against the need to understand the targets and weigh evidence, and Miles doubted he'd arrived with suggestions who met all of those qualities. Not when he'd made decisions based on recent successful flirtations.

Fortunately, Miles was always prepared. "Would you accept a second judge who is not currently familiar with one of the parties, but is an expert with collecting evidence and could come quickly up to speed?"

"Perhaps."

"Excellent. My sister arrives for a month's visit in a few days. I'll let her know that she's been drafted."

Klavier wiped away the coffee he'd inelegantly spilled on his chin. "Your _sister?_ You've collected Ema for your side and now you expect me to welcome Franziska von Karma? And besides, she's a prosecutor! She's already knocked out of consideration!"

"Who does not report to me," Miles said patiently, "which was the source of our problem there."

"Ja, and instead you have introduced new problems!"

With a pointed clearing of his throat, Miles asked, "Have you heard much about my sister, Prosecutor?"

"I... of course. Her family is famous in the history of German law practice. Your family is famous," he added, quiet and grumpy.

"And if you have _truly_ familiarized herself with Franziska, what do you believe she would say if she heard that I was spending time on trying to curry the favor of a defense attorney?"

Klavier went very still and his eyes rolled toward the ceiling. Miles let him think. When the truth hit, Klavier's eyebrows rose high. "Ahh. I see. Perhaps something like... 'Miles Edgeworth, you foolish fool, you will reap the foolish punishment you deserve for this foolhardy foolishness?'"

"Mmm. I believe you've actually read her case transcripts, and that was also a little disturbing."

Lost in thought for another beat, Klavier sat up abruptly and chuckled. "Point well taken. All right, then. The fräulein detective and fräulein prosecutor to judge our efforts."

_I encourage you to refer to Franziska as a 'fräulein prosecutor' to her face, Gavin._ "It's probably for the best if I approach Detective Skye."

"I'm sure I could convince her."

Miles shook his head. "I must insist. However, you're welcome to approach Franziska in my stead, if you feel that the initial discussion grants some benefit to the asker." _I wouldn't mind being out of whipping distance when she hears what we expect her to do._

The sharp gaze he got in return reminded Miles that, despite how easy it was to think otherwise when the man annoyed him, Klavier was quite intelligent. He was abruptly not the flirtatious rock star plucking judges from the barista pool, but the prosecutor who'd identified a case connection even behind a wall of locked files. In a few short seconds Miles' words had been analyzed for hidden traps, reverse psychology, and whatever other trick he might be trying to pull. The process was nearly tangible in the space between them. "I believe I will," Klavier said slowly. "Her contact information, bitte?"

Miles sent her profile and Klavier nodded thoughtfully as he saw it pop up on his phone. "I'll also forward you her itinerary, so you'll know when to contact her," he added, typing. "As I said before, I want you to completely accept my victory. I don't intend to win through dirty tricks."

"First time for everything." Klavier flashed white teeth when Miles glared at him. "Can't take a joke, herr?"

"Not that one," he said tightly. Yes, he was _very_ sick of some reputations. How many years had it been?

Klavier nodded and let it go. "Well, then. We appear to have two judges. They haven't agreed yet, but..."

"I have an appointment to meet Detective Skye shortly," Miles said, checking the time, "and Franziska will be able to catch up on what she's missed once she arrives."

Klavier didn't miss Miles' certainty that he would be meeting with Ema after their discussion, and gave a chiding look. "Then in a fortnight, we'll hear who's done a better job of showing affection for our favorite _legal partner._" Klavier looked close to laughter at Miles' reaction. "You wish you hadn't used those words, right?"

"Like you wouldn't believe," Miles drawled. He held up his coffee. "Two weeks."

"Two weeks," Klavier agreed, and lightly tapped his drink against Miles'. "It's begun. I have to admit, I'm looking forward to seeing you..."

"Yes?"

"...Being nice."

"Being _nice_ has nothing to do with this, Gavin. Appreciation and respect are deeper, richer, and frankly more mature concepts. I intend to demonstrate that, not send the man a bouquet of flowers and a thank-you card."

"I would enjoy seeing Wright's face if you sent him a bouquet of flowers," Klavier said thoughtfully. "Let me know if you do go that way, after all. I'll want pictures."

Despite himself, Miles couldn't help but smile—very slightly—at the suggestion and the image it raised. All right, he could see how Klavier's champagne-like personality boosted the office's mood. "Only if you do the same. Be sure to limit the size of the arrangement, though. As I recall, your chosen _partner_ is a little thing. I'd hate for you to send over something that he could get lost inside."

"We're trash-talking the defense attorneys, now?" Klavier smirked. "Should I start with his hair?"

"Which one?" Miles asked flatly, and Klavier laughed. Yes, for all that Miles was still bewildered by that little corkscrew hanging next to Klavier's skull, the prosecution's superior hair was an undeniable fact. "All right, I'm off to talk to Detective Skye. Two weeks," he reminded Klavier, who nodded.

"I would put money," Klavier said slowly, "on knowing what you're giving to Wright for your first move."

"Oh?" Miles said, less confident than he wanted to sound. Was that prediction good? Bad? The simple fact that Klavier thought he _could_ predict his actions was slightly unsettling, because Klavier was far more practiced with demonstrative behavior. Whatever he thought, he might very well be right. "And what would that be?"

"I'm not handing over any suggestions," Klavier said, then actually winked. "See you tomorrow, boss."

Miles left with a frown. Yes, he had identified a perfect gift already. Could Klavier truly have jumped one step ahead of him? All the way to the police precinct, he looked at his planned move from every angle.

As he'd collected Phoenix's books to reshelve them, it had come to mind: a new computer for the Agency, along with a year's subscription to Westlaw or LexisNexis. Phoenix _was_ a truly gifted attorney, and him coming into the courtroom with greater access to information would be of benefit to everyone. So Phoenix couldn't bring himself to flip between dozens of law tomes, fine; Miles would circumvent that little problem and let Phoenix's talent flourish inside searchable electronic databases that did the cross-referencing for him.

It was perfect. It demonstrated Miles' acknowledgement of his skills, as well as the trust that he placed in Phoenix to always find the truth in the courtroom. It was, in short, exactly the sort of present that one would give in order to demonstrate a mature appreciation toward another professional. Even the timing after his recent reinstatement couldn't be more apt.

Right?

Ugh, he never lacked confidence when the law was under discussion. Why, now, was he suddenly second-guessing himself? Was it the cost? A year's subscription to one of those services would be expensive, and Phoenix might think it was too much. Maybe he'd think it was patronizing, like after all of those years of struggling he still couldn't pay his own bills. And Klavier _had_ mocked the idea of just throwing money at this contest. But what if Miles did monthly payments instead of a lump sum...

No, that wasn't it. There was something about the idea that appealed to him less by the minute. All the way to the police building where Ema worked, Miles grew progressively less and less enthused about his gift. He'd planned to swing by the computer store after talking with Ema, place the database subscription order this evening, and then he could surprise Phoenix tomorrow morning. Immediately before the email from Klavier had arrived and they'd agreed to discuss their judge picks in person, he'd even begun picturing Phoenix's reaction when the man was presented with his gift.

In his imagination Phoenix had been startled, and initially reluctant to accept such an expensive present. But Miles had explained how it was to welcome him back to work, and then he'd joked about how now perhaps Phoenix and his associates would present a challenge to Miles' prosecutors. And then, softly, he'd explained how much he respected Phoenix as an attorney and how he wanted him to flourish like he deserved.

It was heartfelt. It was a million steps beyond what he would have done on his own, even if it was wholly accurate and sincere. So why, now, did it seem like the worst idea in the world?

For the first time he pictured Phoenix's reaction _after_ Miles had left. Phoenix would set up his new computer, instruct Apollo or Athena to familiarize themselves with the agency's new law database, and then he'd... never need to look at another book.

Miles stared blankly through his windshield, barely seeing that he'd reached the precinct's parking lot and had pulled into the loading lane. _What on earth was I thinking?_ he wondered, horrified. He'd thrown Phoenix out of his office just that morning, and then the very next day he'd remove that supposed reason for Phoenix to ever come see him? _He'd politely thank me,_ Miles thought, feeling a headache prickle, _and once I walked away, wondered how much I hated him if I paid thousands of dollars to make sure he never came to my office again._

"Remind me to thank you, Gavin," he muttered as his hands flexed around the steering wheel, "for making me question that decision." God bless that man's cockiness.

The sound of the knock on his window made him jump. Exhaling, Miles grasped for control as he turned to see Ema Skye standing there, waving at him. "Detective Skye," he said politely as he unlocked the door. "I'm glad you agreed to meet with me."

"Thanks for the ride offer, Mr. Edgeworth," Ema said brightly as she strapped on her seatbelt. It wasn't a voice that many people heard out of her, now. Miles didn't know whether her different behavior toward him was due to lingering gratefulness for Lana's case, that crush Klavier had mentioned (did it still exist?), or from how he and Phoenix were the only people in her daily life who had first come to know her as anything but a professional failure. Miles knew what it was like to need a few people with whom one could let down one's protective walls.

Ema continued, "It's going to be nice to not deal with any ass-grabbing on the Metro tonight."

Of course, some things had changed.

"Er, well, I was in the area," Miles lied, "and I'm glad to hear you won't need to deal with any, ah..." He cleared his throat and focused on getting through a few quick lane changes.

"Still," Ema ventured when they were safely on a major thoroughfare, "you don't usually offer people rides."

The unspoken question hung there, and with a sigh, Miles nodded. "I have to admit, Detective, I have an ulterior motive in meeting with you today."

"Should I be worried?" Ema asked silkily.

"Certainly not!" Miles said. Glancing at her amused expression barely lessened his nerves. "I assure you, Ms. Skye, if you would prefer to leave at any time, you're free to—"

"I'm sorry, I was kidding." She rested a hand on his arm. "Really, I was kidding. It was just... you picked me up in your flashy car, say you have an ulterior motive... I thought I'd make a little joke. I know you'd never do anything like that."

He breathed a sigh of relief. To think, two months ago he'd been so smug over Klavier getting rightly rapped on the knuckles for inappropriate behavior toward the woman. "Perhaps this was a bad idea, after all," he murmured. "I'll drive you home."

"No, no. You wanted to talk to me about something. What?" She nudged his arm again when he stayed silent. "Mr. Edgeworth, what is it?"

"My 'flashy' car," he repeated, and tried to put on a smile. "Is that a code word for ostentatious?"

"Maybe, but don't change the subject. I wanna hear."

Hoping he wouldn't regret this, Miles pulled into the first parking lot on their side of the street and dropped his car into neutral. "All right," he said in the most professional voice he could muster. "First off, I would like to say that there will be absolutely no employment-related repercussions should you decline this request."

"Okay," Ema said warily.

"I understand that you sometimes provide information to my office, but you do not report to me, and so I felt it—"

"Just tell me." Ah, there was that Ema Skye voice that most people heard.

Right. Okay. Very delicately, he began, "I have gotten into a wager, and the other party and I are in need of a judge." Ema still looked intrigued and entirely relaxed, and so he continued, "I've bet Prosecutor Gavin that—"

"Yes."

"Yes?"

"Yes. I'll do it. I'll be your judge."

"Er." Miles frowned. "Don't you want to know what the bet is?"

"I don't care. You win." She clapped her hands together once and beamed. "Congratulations!"

As satisfying as that announcement of victory was to hear... "We're looking for a serious judge," Miles told her with a chiding smile. "Someone who will genuinely weigh and consider the evidence. I proposed your name, and after... some significant resistance, Gavin agreed."

"Fine," Ema laughed. "Tell me what the bet is." He did, and her amusement died throughout, replaced by concentration. "Interesting," Ema said slowly. She studied her hands in her lap for a long beat, and when she looked back up to him, her eyebrows had pulled tightly together. "I'll still say yes, but I have some conditions."

"Of course. What are they?"

"You said that there wouldn't be any repercussions, no matter what I decided." As Miles nodded and reassured her, she held up her hand. "I also want to hear that, outside of work hours, I can ask anything and say anything and it's just a conversation between me and two guys, not between a detective and two prosecutors. If I can't get you to promise that I can ask _anything_ I want, then I can't do this, because I wouldn't be using everything to make a proper analysis."

Something about that _anything_ made worry build low in Miles' gut, but he forced it down and ignored it. It was only fair to allow her that flexibility, and of course she deserved reassurance that nothing she did during the course of this favor to him could possibly harm her career. "In the course of your judgeship, Your Honor," he said, and got the wry smile he'd been aiming for, "you may ask for any information without penalty."

"Okay. Then I'll do it." Ema leaned in close. "Is this about fucking?"

Miles' foot slipped off the clutch and the engine died. "I... I beg your pardon?"

"Is this really about showing how much you appreciate each other as platonic friends, or is this going to turn into a romantic comedy with a kiss at the end? I need to know the expected goals to assess how your behavior achieves them." His mouth gaped soundlessly, and so Ema continued, "That's only scientific, after all."

_"Platonic!"_ Miles managed.

"All right." She hesitated. "Are you sure? Because I'm pretty sure that the fop would go for anything warm with a hole, and I know you don't like women."

_"Detective Skye!"_

"Fine, fine, I'll be nice. The fop would go for _anyone_ warm." Ema's grin spread as Miles sputtered. "You said I could ask anything, and I've been wondering this for years, so I'm going for broke. Am I wrong about you? I mean, we've all seen so many women throw themselves at you and you are totally oblivious. Lana thought you were cute when you first started working there, I could tell. She kept trying to lean forward so that you'd notice her ass." Ema smirked. "You didn't."

"This was a mistake," Miles said in horror. And Lana had done _what?_

Ema tapped her chin thoughtfully. "But I shouldn't assume. Do you like... anyone? Asexuality is completely valid. And if that's what we're dealing with, then I do have a different picture of the situation." And then she actually pulled out a notepad, which Miles promptly snatched away. "Asexual," she slowly said, nodding.

"No! I mean." Miles inhaled. With how Ema still liked him, it was all too easy to forget how many people avoided the woman and how off-putting she could be when she put her mind to it. "It's simply not something I give much consideration to."

"Which sounds like asexuality to me, and that's totally okay. I was just curious." Ema pointedly retrieved her notepad and started jotting something down. Numbed by the conversation, Miles let her take it. "All right. So I'm guessing that the fop is going to try to seduce Apollo to show how much he 'appreciates him,'" she said, completed with fingerquotes, "while your approach will be platonic. That might deserve a different scoring mechanism, or, hmm... should this have a qualitative assessment instead of forcing it into a quantitative rubric..."

"There are some," Miles said quietly, the words stumbling out of him. She was just working so _hard_, and as awkward as it was to admit this... he didn't like hearing his own relationship misrepresented yet again.

"Hmm?"

"I do feel... occasionally, I feel attraction."

Ema slowly nodded and jotted something down that she probably thought he couldn't see: _low but existent sex drive._ It was difficult to keep from resting his forehead on the steering wheel and risk sounding the horn. "And Mr. Wright falls in that group, or you wouldn't have bothered correcting me."

"But that is not what this is about," he said firmly. "I simply didn't want you to mischaracterize the facts. I am not interested in a relationship, I'm not pursuing one, and this effort is entirely platonic on my part. Understood?"

"Understood," she said, and once again sounded like Detective Ema Skye, Official Arm of the Law. At least, until she just audibly muttered, "Gavin's totally going to try to fuck him."

"Prosecutor Gavin can do whatever he likes," Miles said, face warm, and restarted the ignition. "So long as you, Detective, understand that my behavior will be quite different and assess it on its own merits."

She nodded. "I promise that I'll do a fair job, Mr. Edgeworth." Her fingertips brushed his sleeve as he checked behind them for any passing cars, and he glanced over to see her small smile. "And everything we've just talked about is totally confidential."

"I knew it would be, Detective." _Actually, I should have gotten that promise out of her before I said anything. I'm far too rattled right now._ "And _now_ I'll take you home."

A few blocks rolled past them. Miles' embarrassment had nearly faded when Ema piped up with, "Do I get to hear what you're going to do beforehand? It'd really help my accuracy if I could witness the effects as they happen."

Uncertainty over the computer came crashing back and Miles let out a tiny, strangled sigh. "I... yes. You will. When I figure out exactly what it is that I'm going to do."

"You don't _know_?" Ema asked. "But you always know what to do. And how hard is it to show someone that you like them?" He flashed a quick sidelong glare and she held up her hands. "Platonically. Just... show him, Mr. Edgeworth. And not in that unresolved sexual tension way that you two have in court."

He slammed on the brakes at a stop sign and turned a full-bore Miles Edgeworth glower on her.

Ema grinned. "We're still in the car. It's still confidential, so I still get to talk about it. Please don't say that you think Gavin is hot. Actually, don't even answer that."

Glad for the escape, Miles nodded mutely. No, he didn't find Klavier remotely attractive; too forward, too flashy. But the memories of his initial assessments of _Kristoph_ were stomach-turning, now. Finding out the true nature of the man he'd only ever appreciated from a distance had gone to show him how very much safer it was to avoid all romantic entanglements. "You were joking about Lana, right?" he asked as he glanced at his phone's map and turned onto Ema's street.

"Nope. I thought it was weird until I got a little older and understood what she'd been doing." Ema smiled in that soft, distant way she sometimes got when her sister was under discussion. Lana was out of prison for her involvement in Gant's crimes and understandably didn't want to come back to work in Los Angeles. Denver had a good job opening for someone with her background, but that was a long flight separating them. "She didn't notice you for very long. I mean... _it_ happened pretty soon after that." Ema studied her hands until he'd parked in front of her small apartment building, and when she looked back up, she seemed much more like the innocent girl he'd first met. "Thank you again. For everything. I hope you and Mr. Wright win."

"I hope so, too," Miles said. "But I anticipate your completely impartial judgment reaching that assessment, Detective. Are we clear?"

"Crystal. And just so you can breathe easy, I'm..." She gestured at one corner of her mouth, then mimed zipping across her lips. "But let me know when you've got something figured out, all right? I'll take notes. And," she added, sighing like Atlas himself had rolled the weight of the world onto her shoulders, "I guess I'll get in touch with the fop and tell him to do the same."

"I appreciate your participation."

"I appreciate the ride home!" Ema said cheerfully, and slammed the door.

Well, that had been infinitely more painful than he'd anticipated. Miles groaned and rolled his head between his shoulders, wondering how tense he'd be by the end of the week if Monday already felt like this. It wasn't like anything he'd said was a revelation to him; he'd been completely accurate in his descriptions, including his general disinterest in romance coupled with an acknowledgment of rare exceptions. It wasn't something that he'd put into words for another person to digest before, though. Ema's unflinching commentary had left him feeling a bit dizzy.

_You always know what to do. How hard is it to show someone that you like them?_

Urgh. Whatever the answer was, it wasn't signing a credit card slip for a new computer. Not when it would give an undeniable message of pushing Phoenix out of his life and closing the door. Phoenix Wright cared far more about people than things; he'd trade a hundred new computers for time with the people close to him.

And there the answer was in flashing neon lights. Thankfully still on roads with low speed limits, Miles started chuckling as he swerved once from surprise. _Oh._

Looking at it this way, the answer was obvious. There was only one perfect 'gift' to give Phoenix, particularly after the conversation they'd had. Once again, he pulled off into the first parking lot, dropped out of gear, and began searching through his phone's contacts. Ah, there was the number that he'd dubiously entered as Phoenix insisted that he just liked to have it in the hands of potential emergency contacts: Wright, Trucy. "Trucy," he said when she answered. "Yes, it's Mr. Edgeworth. I understand that you're searching for victory over your father and his associates."

"You make it sound so serious," she laughed. "But yeah! Are you seriously going to do it? Dad said you wouldn't..."

"I've reconsidered." Miles hesitated. He wasn't sure what a 'game night' entailed, really. "Should... I bring food?"


	3. Chapter 3

_There's a great case about to hit the department, Forehead. Hopefully they come talk to you. We'd have fun in court. ;)_ Klavier grinned in anticipation of his text being replied to, and that grin broadened when Apollo's name popped up on the phone's screen.

_What?_

_Look up Ruby Lipps in the news._

_...Uh, I think I hear Mr. Wright calling me..._ Even in text form, Klavier was sure that Apollo sighed and did as ordered after Klavier waited out his protests. Knuckles rapped on his desk in time to the latest brainstuck cycle of elevator oldies. Two lines from Coldplay. A chorus from Infinity Eight, back in the days when the band was all together and called themselves something about radiation. _Verdammt, the radio stations back then must have been full of nothing but hits._ He'd have to thank the building supervisor who'd listened to his request to replace adult contemporary with rock. Ah, there was Apollo typing again, finally: _WHAT_.

_I told you we'd have fun, Forehead._

_Bank robbery, a drag troupe, and an ice cream truck?_

_Don't forget the puppies._

_I can't decide if I want to pretend you never messaged me or hunt down Ruby._

_I SAID we'd have fun, ja? ;)_

_Remind me to take that literally, next time. Wow._

Klavier chuckled and said his goodbyes. That was the mental break he'd needed from this endless case analysis, but it was time to get back to work. If Apollo did somehow land that client, he needed to have the Dawson case all wrapped up if he was going to request the spot versus his dear Herr Forehead. Actually, he wanted that case no matter what. How many times would he get to run an investigation that focused on a litter of trained puppies?

A figure in a dramatic coat strode past Klavier's open door and he allowed himself some amusement over the image of Miles Edgeworth, Very Serious Boss And Prosecutor attempting to maintain composure while Ruby Lipps appeared in full drag. (Klavier did so hope that she would in fact appear as a she in court. Her show had terrific reviews, and he appreciated a skilled performer.) Edgeworth was an unquestionable genius, an honorable and fair man whose commitment to the truth was sorely needed as years-long rot in the department was uprooted, and by all indications, _allergic to fun._

Was anyone's fur easier to ruffle? You could challenge him on legal matters and he'd swing back like a prizefighter, yet a discussion of a department Christmas party had him looking downright grumpy over all the 'wasted resources.' (Eventually some of the veterans in the department explained that he'd never been a fan of the holidays for as long as they'd known him, but that was still no excuse for looking so positively dour. Besides, who didn't love Christmas?) All it took was one mention of him as a 'sexy librarian' and he looked ready to sputter in outrage.

Klavier smirked. That one had been good; he'd have to remember it.

After starting a text analysis on the Dawson files, Klavier rolled a pen between his fingers and thought idly about the bet. There was something to be said for moving first and setting the tone, but, well... that assumed a fair fight. When it came to acting friendly, Miles Edgeworth was about as practiced as a ten year old kid trying out their first guitar. Klavier didn't want to play a flawless solo just before his competition struggled with basic chords. It'd be cruel.

And so, he was waiting to hear about Edgeworth's first move so that he could know exactly how softly to make his entrance into this competition. Two weeks was plenty of time to ramp up his efforts. If Edgeworth made the first move that Klavier expected, well... it would indeed be a nice, slow start, because Wright would have to struggle to keep a smile on his face as Edgeworth delivered several bookcases of law reference texts to him.

From what he'd overheard, it was all so obvious. Wright had come there to use Edgeworth's books. Edgeworth would attempt to solve this supposed problem by providing Wright with books of his own, and would promptly dust off his hands and believe himself to have shown that 'mature, professional appreciation' he'd discussed over coffee. Wright would be justly (if quietly) hurt over the brush-off, and Klavier would make a first, gentle move toward Apollo that didn't cause any resentment in the Anything Agency's offices the next day as the two attorneys compared their treatment.

Hell, after that, a couple of fast food dinners with Forehead would probably win him the prize, even with Ema as a judge. Of course, Klavier intended to do a lot better than _McDonalds._

"Achtung! Talk to me," he said as he stabbed the button for his ringing phone's speaker.

"Aren't you supposed to say your name?" asked Ema flatly.

"My extension's not publicly listed, fräulein. Anyone calling here knows who they're speaking to."

"A _professional_ prosecutor would identify himself by name." He could picture her tight, annoyed eyeroll. "Anyway, I agreed to judge your little competition. You and Mr. Edgeworth both need to tell me your moves ahead of time so that I can take accurate notes on their effects."

"All right."

"...That was a request, Fop."

He tapped the butt end of his pen against the desk. _Rat tat TAT tatatat rat tatta tat._ "I'll let you know."

"You don't know, either?"

Klavier's eyebrow raised, and he sat up straighter in his seat. "Edgeworth doesn't have a plan?" As Ema grumbled that damn, she shouldn't have said that to him, Klavier frowned in thought. He'd been counting on Edgeworth making an efficient (if misguided) move to open the competition. If he was going to take his sweet time shopping around for a set of law texts, Klavier might need to do something for Apollo without bothering to wait. "I'll have something for you by tomorrow."

"Fine. Oh, wait, I have a call from him right now." She hung up without saying goodbye and Klavier returned to his casework. The text analysis had turned up exactly what he wanted to see: one manager who had a higher-than-average incidence of discussing the corporation's research investments over a ten-year span. Too subtle to notice, unless you were looking at it in aggregate and with purpose. He entered the man's information into various legal search functions, ignored the clean arrest record, and chuckled at his real estate holdings. "That's an expensive house for someone with your salary, herr," Klavier crooned at the monitor. "Perhaps you've been selling that information you discovered?"

As he filled out the form to subpoena the man as a witness (who would be unwittingly implicated on the stand through his own testimony), the taps on the keyboard struck the same rhythm as the song running through his head. This was wrapping up nicely, Klavier thought, and sent the form in for processing. Maybe he'd manage to snag that case with the puppies, after all. He hummed the opening to another oldie as he rifled through documents in search of further ways to strengthen his arguments.

Midsong, his phone buzzed with a text and Klavier glanced to see what Apollo had to say now. Ema's name instead filled the screen, with only a single, short text below it: _lol._

"Lol?" Klavier repeated, frowning. What the hell was Edgeworth doing? Ema laughing at whatever she'd heard in her call with Edgeworth seemed like an encouraging sign... unless she was laughing at _Klavier._ Which was more likely, he wondered: that Edgeworth would make an ill-advised move of friendship so awkward that it deserved laughter, or that Oscar the Grouch had somehow make such a very good move that Ema felt compelled to rub it in Klavier's face? Obviously, the bad Edgeworth move.

...No. Reconsider that. Which was more likely: that she'd rub a good Edgeworth move in Klavier's face, or that Edgeworth would screw up and Ema would actually _admit it_ to Klavier, in all her hero-worshipping youth?

Oh, hell. Edgeworth wasn't doing the books, after all. He'd figured out something good.

Klavier bit his lip and checked the clock, then did a mental time zone calculation. Franziska's flights weren't until tomorrow. Even with an early departure, she'd still be awake. He brought up her profile and dialed before he could lose his nerve. Franziska von Karma had been something of an idol to him for years, and unlike Edgeworth, he'd never met the woman to let that pedestal become slightly worn through inevitable, wholly human foibles.

"Franziska von Karma," said a crisp voice after two rings. "To whom am I speaking?"

"Wie geht es Ihnen, Frau von Karma?" Klavier began formally. "Mein name ist Klavier Gavin."

After a pause, she replied in German, "From the Los Angeles Prosecutor's Office."

"You've heard of me. I'm flattered."

"When I saw the phone number I assumed someone would be calling me in English." She hesitated. Although Klavier's tone had shifted away from his initial, stilted formality after their first exchange, Franziska sounded, if anything, more tightly wound. "Is this call in regards to Miles Edgeworth?"

"In a sense, yes." Her sharp, if small intake of breath confused Klavier until it dawned that she would be Edgeworth's next of kin, and that she had a very different image of why a call was being made to her by a stranger from her brother's workplace. "Nothing is wrong."

"...I see."

"I apologize for any confusion."

"Any confusion was only on your part, Prosecutor. A von Karma never assumes anything without all facts before her."

Oh, this would be fun. "Edgeworth gave me your name and suggested that you might be brought in for a... consultation."

"Ahh," Franziska said, and did sound far more relaxed. _I doubt she'd ever admit how worried she was for that split second._ "Well, a full month's holiday would be ill-advised. Perfection isn't maintained through idleness. Very well, Prosecutor; when I arrive in California, we can discuss your case."

If he was going to have any hope of bringing her around to his side, Klavier needed to lay the groundwork here and now. "Your brother didn't suggest that you'd spend your time on a case, Ms. von Karma. He expects you to assess his performance on a task."

"I'm listening," she said warily. "What's the task?"

Klavier twirled his pen again. "Oh, he wants to make Phoenix Wright like him." _Boom._ "Not romantically, I don't _think._" _Boom._

"_What?_ You are telling me that my fool of a brother thinks that I would willingly give up my rare relaxation time to assess how he behaves toward that spiky-headed courtroom performance artist? He believes that this is the sort of task to which a von Karma should apply her skills? You listen to me, Klavier Gavin: you will stand up, march yourself to that fool's office, and punish him on my behalf."

"That would land me in jail with assault charges, Ms. von Karma."

"Tch. I've never had a problem." Franziska huffed and prepared for another rant, but Klavier smoothly stepped in before she could continue.

"He's actually involved me in a wager. I'm also to express appreciation toward an attorney of my choice. You'd assess us over the next two weeks and decide which of us performed better."

"This is nothing but foolishness! Prosecutors should strive toward perfection, not direct their time and effort toward attorneys who have chosen such a foolish path in life. I have no desire to be involved with this, and if my little brother expects me to waste my valuable time, then perhaps I will make other arrangements with my social contacts and simply visit Miles Edgeworth when he's come to his senses."

_Little_ brother? Wasn't she younger? _I sense even an fiercer rivalry than I knew._ "Or," Klavier said smoothly, "you could arrive in Los Angeles, make a cursory assessment of his behavior, and hand down... a defeat."

The line went silent for a long, meaningful beat. "I have no desire to offer a victory to either you or Miles Edgeworth, Klavier Gavin. This foolish wager is an embarrassment to both of you."

"Perhaps, but he was the one to suggest your name in the first place, Ms. von Karma. I believe his exact words were that he would inform you that you had been 'drafted.'" He could hear a quick, sharp exhalation over the line, like the breath of a snorting horse. "You have no opinion toward me or Mr. Justice, my attorney of choice, but... consider it. You could hand down a loss to both Miles Edgeworth and Phoenix Wright. Simultaneously. And your brother has agreed to accept your judgment."

"...Fine. Inform Miles Edgeworth that I do not want to have him pick me up from the airport. You will meet me, Klavier Gavin, and provide me with the salient details of this competition."

"I'm always pleased to do whatever a young lady requests of me," Klavier practically purred.

"Don't wear cologne."

"I'm sorry?"

"You sound like a man who wears cologne, and you probably wear too much. I therefore do not trust your judgment and prefer you to wear no cologne at all. Am I understood?"

"Er. Understood." _If this is the sort of attitude that gets you von Karma's reputation or Edgeworth's position... maybe I'm satisfied with just being a simply excellent prosecutor. Imagine: an entire family allergic to fun. Brr._ "Are you up for a ride on a motorcycle?" Every woman he'd ever known relaxed with that engine rumbling between her legs.

"Motorcycles are foolish risks and I will have a month's worth of luggage. Do not assume I will automatically penalize Miles Edgeworth, Klavier Gavin, if you insist on introducing yourself to me with such relentless foolishness."

"I'll bring a car, then," he said, rubbing his aching eyes. Klavier suspected that those jokes about her carrying a whip into the courtroom might actually be accurate. "Many thanks, Prosecutor von Karma."

"I'll see you at the airport."


	4. Chapter 4

Phoenix's apartment wasn't new in the strictest sense of the word, but it had the feeling of a place that had yet to wholly welcome its owners and become a home. Walls still had a box or two nestled in their corners. A bookcase had one shelf lined with identical cheap storage baskets; each appeared to contain a random assortment of items that at least weren't on the floor any more. The furniture wasn't luxurious, but new and clean, and still looked as if had seldom been sat upon.

Miles observed all of that at a glance. He hadn't put down serious roots for close to a decade, and even his longer stays had always been in a furnished rental arranged by the local judicial branch or university. His only constants had been his phone, laptop, and dog. (The memory of her ever-whitening muzzle as she aged still sent a pang of loss through him.) Even now, with a permanent position that he intended to keep, he still hadn't bothered finding somewhere of his own. Real estate shopping took time and he enjoyed the Gatewater's new long-term corporate rental building.

"Thanks again for coming!" Trucy said as she pulled him further into the apartment. "Dad's going to be home really soon. They had something come in late and they're all pitching in so they can be here in time."

"Of course." He looked uncertainly down at the items he'd brought. One hand held a canvas bag full of drink options; the other, an expensive chocolate cake cut into tiny slivers. He'd thought they looked like good things to bring, but he was operating blind. It was unsettling. "Is this all right?" he asked, raising his hands slightly and nodding to their contents.

"Ooh," Trucy said, studying the cake. "This looks great. Thanks! You didn't actually need to bring anything, but you offered, and well..." She grinned and shrugged. "Never turn down free food, right?"

The words sent a throb of melancholy through him. That didn't seem like a lesson someone her age should have learned. "Is there somewhere I can put everything? I'd like to hang up my jacket."

Trucy led the way and he followed her from place to place. Hearing from Phoenix that he'd adopted a daughter had been mind-blowing, and hardly seemed like a good idea with everything he'd been going through. Miles knew that his own situation was far past unique and of _course_ he viewed Phoenix as nothing like Manfred von Karma, but still, his entire body had clenched at hearing that some young child had just been adopted as the world seemed to be falling apart. The specifics hardly mattered. Even airplane turbulence could be a stand-in for an earthquake, and apparently any young child's adoption reminded him of moving to a solemn, joyless house where a decade and a half of brainwashing had commenced.

The interim years had changed his mind. He'd heard the girl described as a light in Phoenix's life and by all appearances the description seemed accurate. She was charming in her way, enthusiastic, and very talented with the 'magic' shows she was so proud of. Their peculiar family had come together, with that Apollo fellow bouncing around at the edges in a role that Miles couldn't quite pin down. Now they had an easier time ahead of them and happiness came more often. It was nice to see.

"We're actually going to have equal teams," Trucy said as she flipped through paper menus. "And without me filling an extra seat with Mr. Hat. So we're definitely going to kick their butts."

"Equal?" Weren't there five people at this gathering? Oh, right. "Did Ema Skye happen to invite herself over, by chance?" Miles asked.

"Yeah! Did she mention it to you?"

"Mmm. Obliquely." Miles pictured the two teams sitting opposite each other in that living room and couldn't help but smirk. On one side: Phoenix with his little lie detector stone, Apollo with that bracelet, and Athena with her necklace. On the other: the three of them, free of any such crutches. "With our superior logical skills, we're certain to triumph."

Trucy looked bemused. "I've got 'superior logical skills?' News to me."

Miles tapped his temple knowingly. "Your shows are masterpieces of behavioral awareness. You're able to play on people's perceptions and expectations, and by confounding those, deliver the appearance of 'magic.' I do hope you never get into crime; you'd cause no end of trouble to our detectives." Whenever Phoenix had invited him to her shows, he'd enjoyed attempting to tease out explanations for every illusion she presented. Often he couldn't, which he found terribly impressive.

"Oh." Trucy considered that, then grinned. "Thanks."

The first time he'd discussed Trucy's work with the girl, she'd been put out at how he'd tried to solve the tricks instead of simply enjoying them like the rest of her audience. After a few such encounters, the dynamic changed. Miles learned to compliment her on the illusions he couldn't solve and ignored the ones he had. In return, she began to like him.

"And so that other team will face our superior intellects with their little _toys_," Miles reiterated. "Our victory is assured."

"You've used this 'toy' before, Edgeworth," chuckled Phoenix, and Miles and Trucy turned to see him letting himself in. He held up his magatama. "Remember?"

"I'm sure there's a perfectly reasonable explanation for what I saw."

"Yeah, there is," Phoenix said, shrugging off his coat and slinging it over the back of the couch. He rolled up his shirtsleeves. "It's charged with spiritual energy that looks into people's minds or souls."

"In all likelihood," Miles said patiently, "whatever energy is within that object resonates with heightened physical indicators in a target's body. In other words: when people lie, they get nervous. It's perfectly possible to measure such reactions."

"Maybe. Sure. ...So what's your explanation for the chains and locks?"

Miles narrowed his eyes. "Hallucinogenic properties."

Phoenix laughed and shoved the magatama back into his pocket. "Whatever you say."

"Lengthy exposure to Larry Butz would make anyone see things," Miles grumbled, and Phoenix chuckled more.

"It's okay, Mr. Edgeworth," Trucy said, and leaned toward her father with a smirk. "Team Logic is still going to kick butt."

"Team Logic?" Phoenix repeated, and quirked an eyebrow. "You're on 'Team Logic?' You do remember that you're a magician, right? Top hat and all?"

"I'm a master of behavioral awareness," Trucy said haughtily.

After studying Trucy for a long beat, Phoenix turned to Miles and asked, "You have been here for _ten minutes_ and this is how you have my daughter talking?"

Miles folded his arms. "Never speak down to younger people. They will rise to your expectations."

Shaking his head with mingled affection and annoyance, Phoenix said, "You'd probably say the exact same thing to a preschooler." Well, of course Miles would. He wouldn't expect an answer, mind, but how were children to learn new vocabulary if it was never used around them? "Truce, could you go ahead and order dinner? I need to ask Edgeworth something."

"Sure thing, Daddy!" Trucy said and plucked out one of the menus she'd been studying, then left with a phone pressed to her ear.

Concern built as Phoenix inclined his head toward the small balcony next to the dining nook. Miles followed him onto a small, still-empty platform with a view of a few struggling trees. Though he steeled himself for whatever Phoenix's suddenly serious expression might be regarding, the man didn't ask him anything and instead looked toward the sky. Miles followed his gaze to a spectacular sunset, where clouds were a riot of pink and gold across orange and indigo. This time of day was the only reliable positive of the city's famously awful pollution, and they both stayed silent for a few long beats to enjoy it.

"I forgot to notice things like that for a long time," Phoenix admitted.

"You had good reason to be distracted."

Phoenix half-smiled, then asked without turning, "What made you change your mind?"

"Pardon?"

Phoenix looked over until Miles met his eyes in return. They looked as deep as the darkening sky. "I wasn't surprised when you turned me down yesterday. Disappointed, sure, but I wasn't surprised. I hated that I had to tell Trucy no, but I'd warned her that was what'd probably happen. And then you called me and said that you would love to come over. I don't get it." When Miles hesitated, Phoenix added, "I was happy! But totally confused."

"I... discovered that I had time open in my schedule, after all."

After a long second, Phoenix smirked and shook his head. "Fine, don't tell me."

"I'm telling the truth," Miles said in a huff. "I finished things faster than I expected, and I was able to... oh." Phoenix held up the magatama and it felt like the ground fell out from under his feet. _Bad comparison to make, Miles,_ he thought grimly as he fought to steady his nerves. How on earth was he supposed to give a truthful answer to that question?

"Three locks," Phoenix said in curiosity. The small stone flipped back and forth between his fingers. Miles watched its movements cautiously, like he might a wasp's. "Huh. It's not anything bad, is it?"

"What? No, of course not."

"Okay." Phoenix frowned. "When I saw the locks just now, I guess I was concerned that you'd heard that you... had six months to live or something, and were reassessing your priorities."

"And you only had that level of concern over it?" Miles asked, one eyebrow arched. "And you only thought it would appear to you as a moderately intensive lie?"

"Point taken. I knew it wasn't likely, but I guess... well, part of me is always going to worry about you suddenly turning up dead." Phoenix folded his arms. Despite himself, Miles was distracted by Phoenix's dressed-down suit coupled with his bare forearms. It was a good look, and the close quarters of the balcony had him far more flustered than the open expanse of his office. "I guess you can't really blame me for that."

It took Miles a second to focus, and he grimaced and looked down. "That was nearly ten years ago."

"Well, some things are a big enough deal that you get to bring them up forever." Phoenix swallowed audibly. "Okay, then. This is all I can think of for why you're lying to me and don't seem all that concerned about it." He shrank into himself and asked in a softer voice, "Are you leaving again? Is this a way to say goodbye to everyone?"

"What? No. You know I've taken this as a permanent position."

"You've taken a lot of jobs that sounded pretty permanent, and they were always somewhere that wasn't _here._" Phoenix looked like a novice lawyer again, all coltishly young and uncertain. "And you're still living in a hotel."

"I've been busy, Wright. Do you know what a nightmare it'll be to find a place and get a mortgage settled in this market?"

"A mortgage," Phoenix repeated slowly. "So... not a rental."

"Not a rental."

"You're really staying here."

"I'm really staying here," Miles said patiently, "and so far as I know, I have more than six months to live."

"Huh," Phoenix said, and seemed equally relieved and befuddled as he studied his magatama. "Well, that's good to hear. I started worry-spiraling a little, sorry. I guess I just didn't know what to make of this, and you're usually pretty easy to predict."

What? Miles Edgeworth was a dense tome of knowledge, not a children's picture book. "I am not," Miles said with offense. He squared his shoulders and lifted his chin.

Chuckling, Phoenix gave him a fond smile. "Maybe not to most people. But I can predict you pretty easily, come on."

"You thought I was about to take a job in Europe again because I'd be dead in six months."

"Besides that."

The entire purpose of this exercise was to display his appreciation toward Phoenix Wright. Lying, as comfortable as it was, hardly accomplished that task. Although he felt like he was walking naked into court, Miles said toward his shoes, "I was abrupt with you in my office yesterday. I felt like this might help to make up for that." He bit his lip, found his courage, and looked up.

"A lock just broke," Phoenix said, startled. "That's the truth? You were... thinking about my feelings? Really?"

"Don't act like that's such an impossible concept, Wright," Miles snapped. "And I suppose you can't predict me after all, hmm?"

"Huh. Well, thanks." Phoenix scratched the back of his head, then reached out for Miles' arm. The sudden warmth made Miles jerk away in surprise, but Phoenix patiently tried again and managed to snag his wrist. "Open your hand, Edgeworth." Uncertain, Miles did, and frowned at the sight of the magatama being laid on his open palm. "Now, look back at me. Okay: I really appreciate this. Not only for me, but for Trucy, and I'm sorry I made it seem like I was so surprised at you being nice. I _was_ surprised, but I should have hidden it a little better."

"Well, ah." Miles swallowed. "You're welcome."

"There, now we both know that we were telling the truth," Phoenix said, and scooped up the magatama with a grin. Hurriedly, Miles put his hand back down at his side. "You've still got some locks on you, but so long as you're not about to run off to Europe and die, that's your business."

"That's certainly not my plan," Miles said dryly.

Phoenix moved to open the door, then paused. "Speaking of Europe," he began, "isn't Franziska flying in soon? You said she was staying with you?"

"Yes, she'll get in late tomorrow." Klavier was welcome to the task. Franziska was always a nightmare after dealing with plane passengers and timezones.

"Please say that you reserved another hotel room for her," Phoenix said with exaggerated urgency, "and that you don't have to spend a month dealing with her in the next bed over. You promised me you weren't about to die, but I think having her as a roommate might test that. I'm pretty sure that one of you would get convicted of murder by the month's end."

The suggestion made him blanch. "Oh, good lord, Wright, I would never set myself up for spending a month with Franziska in the same room. It's a two bedroom suite."

Phoenix breathed a dramatic sigh of relief. "You were able to get a bigger room. Good."

"No, I always had a suite that size. The ones with two bedrooms have a better view, so I was sure to request one upon making my reservation." That earned a startled look from Phoenix, then a sharp bark of laughter, and Miles drew in on himself again. "What's so funny?"

"Oh, nothing. Just that you've been paying a two-bedroom rate for..." Phoenix smirked and shook his head. "Never mind. Sometimes I just remember that you and I have lived seriously different lives. Come on, I think I hear people inside. Apollo and Athena must be here."

Miles moved toward the door as it slid open, but Phoenix's half-bared arm stopped him. He swallowed and backed away. "Did you forget something?"

Even worse than Phoenix's casual dress was the slow, knowing smile that he directed squarely at Miles. He wasn't the younger man he'd looked like during their conversation. Miles was reminded that he'd been through a lot, even if his reinstatement had polished up some of that tarnish. Phoenix had been honed like a blade. For one sharp, terrifying second, Miles wondered if Phoenix was somehow aware of his attraction and planned to turn it against him.

"Just for the record, Edgeworth," Phoenix said, "you were totally believable just now as someone who thinks that the magatama's locks and chains are only hallucinations." And he winked.

"W-what?" Miles blushed. "Oh. Well. Be quiet."

"Solid argument, Mr. Edgeworth. I see why they made you Chief Prosecutor." Phoenix laughed and splayed his hand against the back of Miles' waistcoat, then pushed him inside the apartment. Miles let himself be guided and focused on not tripping over the metal track for the door. "Come on. It's time for you to have fun."


	5. Chapter 5

"Oh god," said Apollo Justice when Miles returned to the living room, "Trucy wasn't lying, he's here." Everyone in the room turned toward him and the young man reddened to match his suit. "I meant to whisper that."

"Way to strike fear into the hearts of our enemies, Polly," sighed Athena Cykes.

Miles studied the two young lawyers. Cykes was nearly a complete unknown to him. He knew that she was competitive but could get flustered, and relied heavily upon analysis of her witnesses' emotional states. Useful information, if dry. Justice was only slightly more familiar. He could understand why Apollo had worked with Phoenix during his disbarment, and why they'd continued their professional association as Phoenix's life hit an upswing. From the sound of it, Apollo had bits of both behavioral extremes within him, the passion and the sarcasm alike.

But he was also easier to knock off-balance than Phoenix had been, even in their earliest face-offs. "Trucy," Miles said with a slow, satisfied smirk. "How were you describing yourself again? The label I gave you?"

"Huh? Oh!" Trucy folded her arms and grinned wickedly at her three foes. "I'm a master of behavioral awareness."

Apollo looked down at that chunky bracelet of his and looked back up with a frown. "Hey! That's my job!"

"Too bad, Mr. Edgeworth already gave it to me! He's got seniority!"

"Whatever, he's a prosecutor, he doesn't have any seniority over—" The argument died with a strangled noise in the boy's throat. Just like most people, he didn't seem fond of challenging Miles Edgeworth once he'd remembered the man's presence. "I mean. You can call yourself whatever you want, Trucy."

"Justice," Miles said in his most formal tones. "I observed your case two weeks ago. The murder in Glendora?"

"You watched my case?" Apollo asked, and swallowed. "I didn't know that." He shot a quick glare in Phoenix's direction; Phoenix shrugged and grinned unconcernedly. Whether the senior partner of the Anything Agency had known about Miles' presence was unclear, but there was no doubt that he didn't mind seeing his younger associates getting innocently rattled by the opposition.

Miles nodded. "You were going up against one of my newer hires. I observe their early cases to see how they're doing in court. You made quite a strong case with the placement of that handprint on the murder weapon."

Apollo started, then let a tiny, proud smile develop. "Really? Thanks, Mr. Edgeworth."

In the same pleasant tones, Miles continued, "What would you have done if Prosecutor Carmichael had challenged that evidence's validity on the chain of custody rule? There did appear to be a time when the weapon could have been controlled by some third party."

Apollo went silent for a second. "I... I hadn't... I mean, the fireplace poker was my whole case. They couldn't have disallowed it as evidence, could they? It's the murder weapon! You have to have the murder weapon in a murder trial!"

"And there was a ten minute stretch during the officer's car accident when someone else could have gotten their hands on it," Miles said. "If my prosecutor had done his job properly, not a single fingerprint on it would have been admissible. What would your strategy have been, then?"

Lost, Apollo turned to Athena. She shrugged helplessly. With a growing flush to his cheeks, Apollo planted his feet firmly and said, a little too loud, "I would have challenged that argument and kept the evidence under consideration."

"Chain of custody is an important rule," Miles said blandly. "Surely you'd want to respect it."

"I do!" Apollo swallowed. "I do. But to assume that someone altered the prints means that they would have had to follow the police car and break into it as soon as that other car ran into them in the intersection. They'd have to wipe the prints, get new ones on it, and do all of that without being noticed. In ten minutes. It's totally implausible, and so the only valid conclusion is that the prints on the weapon in court were the same ones that existed at the time of the murder." Then he took the big, deep gulp he'd clearly been dying for during his increasingly tense monologue.

Good boy. That would probably work with this district's judges, though probability wasn't certainty. "Nevertheless," Miles said, "the evidence could have been thrown out. What would your strategy have been?"

The boy's temporary victory crumbled. "But... I... more testimony, I guess," Apollo began, "or—"

"For god's sake, Edgeworth," Phoenix chuckled, "leave him alone." The doorbell rang and Apollo and Athena both lunged to let Ema inside. Phoenix smirked as the younger group greeted each other and Ema slapped their hands away from the snack bag she didn't intend to share. Trucy managed to steal a Snackoo, regardless. "You just had to try to rattle him, didn't you?"

Miles shrugged. "I was simply questioning the opposing council."

"You were throwing your weight around." Phoenix stretched out his arms, cracking his knuckles. "Don't even try to pretend you don't play up your rep when it suits you. Fortunately, there's someone on this team who you don't scare at all. And Edgeworth?"

It was difficult to hold back the hint of a smile. All right, maybe he had been having some fun with his terrifying reputation. "Mmm?"

"You were a guest professor a couple of times, right?" Phoenix waited for his nod. "Were you the _most_ hated prof on campus, or just near the top?"

After a long pause to consider the question, Miles admitted, "I'm sure I was very near the top of the list."

Phoenix smirked. "I thought as much. Come on, let's go wrangle the kids."

The kids. A funny way to put it, and yet as they took their places opposite each other—Trucy's 'Team Logic' on the couch, and Athena's label of 'Team Defense' in a scattering of chairs—Miles couldn't help but notice the division between he and Phoenix and the rest of the people there. He'd always felt far older than his years. In his first trial he'd felt like he was facing a child, regardless of Fey having several birthdays on him. It had been arrogant, he admitted as he took his shirtsleeves up to his elbows in a series of neat folds. But now he and Phoenix really were the oldest people in the room, they were the ones with underlings, and it felt infinitely more comfortable than his twenty-something showboating. Perhaps this was the age he'd been meant to be ever since he was that serious elementary student who refused to read fiction.

He caught Phoenix looking at his bare forearms, but there was none of the distraction Miles had felt toward Phoenix out on the balcony. Phoenix simply looked amused at his increasingly casual dress. _Of course. Did you expect anything else?_ He leaned forward to grab the game's instructions and gave Ema a wan smile when she wiggled her fingers at him. "So, what exactly are we doing?"

Trucy snagged the papers from his hand and began reading to him; or, rather, paraphrasing. "We each pick a colored circle dealie and roll to move it around the board. You have to answer a question in the color that you land on." She rattled off what all the colors meant; apparently, these game designers had neatly divided the sum of human knowledge. Tapping a spot at the intersection of wheel and spoke, she continued, "If you answer a question in one of these spaces, then you get the wedgie to put in your little dealie."

"Wedgie," Athena repeated, and giggled.

"And when your dealie is full," Trucy continued, "you get to move to the center of the board and win!"

It seemed straightforward enough, if far too reliant on lucky rolls. Still, a basic assessment of knowledge was a rather more pleasant experience than he'd expected. It wasn't chess, but it wasn't awful. "This seems like it would be more challenging as a single-player game," Miles mused. "Teams can cover each other's weaknesses and finish very quickly."

"Oh, that's how it's designed." Trucy eeped under Miles' frown that he turned on her. "But they do allow team play, look!" She shoved the instructions at him to no avail; the tiny print was a mass of blurs, soon pulled away again. "This is just a game that can go on forever with a big group if you don't tweak the rules a little."

"Like Monopoly," Ema drawled as she crunched her snacks. "Which is a torture method in the updated version of the _Inferno._ Seventh circle."

"You do have to get creative with Monopoly," Phoenix agreed. "Like robbing the bank."

Trucy nodded. "Or adding Godzilla."

"What _are_ these games?" Miles asked, bewildered.

After studying him for a second, Phoenix smiled and reached for the cards. "Since you're the only one who hasn't played before, I'll give you a sample of what to expect." That seemed fair enough, and Miles nodded. Phoenix rifled through cards thoughtfully, retrieved a few, and shuffled them into some sort of order. "I'll stick to one category so that you can get a feel for the questions. Arts and Entertainment." Very well. "Which Russian-born composer of The Bells was also a famous pianist and conductor?"

Miles blinked. It was this easy? "Rachmaninoff," he said instantly. Apollo and Athena groaned and he looked at them in confusion. Whatever was that reaction for? The question was simple; it wasn't like there was a surfeit of men with all three roles and a Russian origin.

Phoenix smirked at his junior partners, held up a hand to forestall any more whining, and moved to the next card. "Which American director brought to life such characters as Duckie, Ferris, and Bender?" _What on earth? Are those... dogs?_ Miles stared blankly until Phoenix moved to the next card. "Which of these is not a land in the Magic Kingdom?" Even with a multiple choice selection that followed, Miles had no clue. "What iconic television couple lived at 1313 Mockingbird Lane?"

_This is humiliating,_ Miles thought as his face warmed. This was apparently one sixth of all human knowledge and he'd managed one question out of four.

"Which Grammy-winning artist sang tracks for both the Oscar-winning _Roosevelt_ and the blockbuster hit _The Samurai Clan: Assault on Neo-Tokyo?_"

Miles sat up straight and jabbed a finger defiantly into the space between them. _I know this!_ "Irena Bell," he proclaimed without thinking. He'd seen her name on the soundtrack countless times. There was a long, meaningful pause as he realized the trap that Phoenix had laid for his eccentric taste in entertainment. "Er. _Roosevelt_ was an excellent movie," he said after that long beat. "Quite memorable."

As his younger associates blinked in confusion over whatever they were obviously missing, Phoenix's grin widened. "Really? What was your favorite part?"

_You're going to pay for this, Wright._ "The cinematography," Miles said flatly.

Phoenix smirked. "Yeah, that was great. What about the plot? What was your favorite part there?"

"...World War II."

Phoenix laughed and Miles had to admit that it was deserved. Oh, he would get Phoenix Wright back for that round of embarrassment. It was time to _win._ "You did that on purpose," he murmured as they set up the playing pieces. At the look he got in return that said _obviously_ and _that was for Justice, by the way_, Miles squared his shoulders and focused.

He would score a victory in this meaningless trivia game tonight or die trying.

Twenty minutes in, it no longer felt meaningless. Questions that should have been simple would have their answers forgotten, the players left wondering whether they should risk the only name they could think of. Players would speak out before they conferred and often lose their team's turn in exchange for their confidence. It was frustrating. It was _fun._

Athena scooped up the next card and scanned down to the right spot. "Okay, Team Nerds, tell me: what lightest metal element oh crap you're going to get this one, aren't you?"

Ema smirked, took a long drink of the beer she'd snagged from Phoenix's fridge, and raised her chin defiantly. "The answer's lithium, Psych Girl."

"I didn't even get to read the full question," Athena grumbled, "and why are you saying _psych_ like it's a bad thing? Psychology is a science!"

"A _social_ science," Ema sneered.

"Picking your major sounds like really serious business," Trucy said quietly to Miles.

As the girls began to argue about the validity of psychology as a field of study, Miles gave in and walked to the hallway closet where he'd hung his jacket. He'd passed off too many cards to Trucy to read in his stead; the typeface on the cards was quite small. He retrieved his reading glasses, settled them in place, and returned to the group.

Phoenix grinned delightedly when he saw them. It was an expression that would usually add a bright spot to Miles' day, but when his glasses were the cause of that smile, it was only worthy of a grumble. They were, apparently, confirmation of his Biggest Dork in the World status. If that's what he wished to call a dedicated student of the law, fine. Miles adjusted them the next time their team was called upon to read a card and scanned down to the text that was now clear to his eyes. Ah. A trick question. "Which Renaissance artist—"

"Wait a second," Phoenix said, and squinted.

"What?" Miles asked. If Phoenix was attempting to make fun of him yet again that evening, the effort was misguided. He was _not_ squinting. (Not anymore.) To the entire room's confusion, Phoenix squinted at him again, held up his hand, and slid off his chair and onto the floor. Bewildered, Miles rose from the couch to peer down at whatever Phoenix was doing.

Phoenix frowned and held up his hand again. "That was me telling you not to move." He angled his index finger and pointed at the couch.

"What in the world are you doing?" Miles asked. Next to him, Trucy tilted her head and studied her father.

"Sit down and look at the card again," Phoenix ordered. "Sit." His jaw set. "Sit!"

Miles sat and shrugged at Trucy. She shrugged back as he held up the card and studied it as he'd been ordered. Out of the corner of his eye, he could just make Ema scribbling observations down in her notebook. "Is whatever curiosity you have satisfied, Wright? The game is moving along, but that could quickly change if you insist upon—"

From his spot on the floor, Phoenix broke into a sudden, awed grin. "You look _so_ much like your dad."

Miles froze. The card nearly slipped from his hand. "I... I do?"

At his reaction, Phoenix's smile softened. "Yeah, I had to get down here to have a kid's perspective so that I could be sure. It was something about the glasses just now. It really made me flash back. I can't say that I remember perfectly, of course, but..."

"No. No, that's fine." Miles readjusted his glasses for something to do. "It's been a long time, of course you wouldn't." His fingertips traced the edge of the card, and he met Phoenix's eyes full-on as the man retook his seat. "I'm not sure exactly what to say," he admitted, "but that's nice to hear."

"You know his dad?" asked Apollo.

"Knew," Miles corrected softly. "For a short time, which is why I'm surprised at his recollection."

"Oh." Apollo reddened again. It hadn't been a good night for the poor boy, and this looked to be one more thing that had him ready to sink through the floor. "I'm sorry." If he correctly remembered an offhand comment of Phoenix's, Apollo had also lost his parents early. That made Miles more sympathetic toward him, but Apollo probably felt all the worse for his mistake. Miles made a gesture that he intended as _no apologies needed_ but didn't know if Justice saw it.

"I liked going over there, back then," Phoenix said. "I guess it stuck in my head."

"I suppose so." Miles would have preferred to let the moment ripen, this weight of decades between them that only they understood, but it was interrupted by the insistent _skritch skritch skritch_ of graphite on paper. The room turned toward Ema in unison; she, lost in her note-taking, took another sentence or so to notice.

"What are you even writing?" Apollo asked. "If it's work, we promised we wouldn't do any tonight."

Concern began to burn inside Miles as Ema stayed flushed and silent; he had no idea what notes she was taking but was certain they would be difficult to explain. Her blush cleared abruptly and she said in the detached tones that had become her trademark, "I'm tracking my menstrual cycle."

Well, that was one way to explain it away. Apollo flinched. "I'm sorry I asked."

Satisfaction bloomed on Ema's face; Miles suspected that relief might be on his. Both were interrupted by Phoenix leaning in and asking quietly, redder than anyone, "Er... do you need... stuff? Trucy has... in the bathroom..."

_"Daddy,"_ Trucy hissed in mortification.

"I'm good, thanks," Ema said. She shot Miles an abashed look, folded her notebook closed, and promptly slid it under herself. Good. She could remember and record what she saw that night upon returning home, assuming she didn't have too many more beers. After this, he'd have to lecture her about not making her notebook so visible to those who were ignorant of the wager. "Er, I think you were reading the next question, Mr. Edgeworth?"

He nodded and raised the card. Trucy was glowering at her father, and in return, Phoenix was mouthing apologies. Miles plowed through without waiting for them. "Which Renaissance artist created a famous freestanding bronze _David_ in the Fifteenth Century?"

Apollo and Athena conferred, murmuring the name that Miles had expected: Michelangelo. It was a clever question; with such an iconic work out there and little knowledge that there were lesser-known but influential statues with the name, he guessed that nearly anyone would give the mistaken answer they were about to say. The clue about the bronze composition simply wouldn't register with most listeners. As Phoenix was still dealing with his upset daughter's glares, it was between the two of them to speak up, and Apollo soon began, "Michel—"

Phoenix jerked at his teammate's voice. "Donatello!" he said, nearly loud enough for the courtroom.

Miles raised his eyebrows, blinked, and slipped the card into the back of the box. "That's correct."

Grinning sheepishly, Phoenix apologized to his now thoroughly demoralized younger partner. (Miles was truly feeling bad for Justice by now, and he wasn't known for his excess of sympathy.) "Sorry, I should have been paying attention sooner."

"How did you even know that answer?" Athena asked in amazement.

"How did I know that?" Phoenix asked Miles.

After a second of confusion, Miles deduced that Phoenix expected him to somehow understand the reason for that knowledge. He rolled through potential reasons and, when the obvious one presented itself, said, "I presume that art majors need to take history along with studio classes." The broad smile he got in return said that he was right, and that Phoenix appreciated him remembering a fact like that. He found himself smiling back.

"You were an _art major?_" Athena and Ema asked with equal incredulity. "How did you end up as a lawyer, then?" Ema added.

_Apparently art is an even less respectable field than a social science,_ Miles thought with a silent chuckle.

"It's a long story," Phoenix said, inclining his head toward Miles. The tantalizing answer clearly left Ema unsatisfied and she was torn between studying the two men or pulling out her book again to make further notes. Fortunately for all involved parties, the doorbell rang like it had been cued.

"Pizza!" Trucy said, bounding up.

Moving on instinct, Miles reached for his wallet and retrieved several twenty-dollar bills. "Here," he said and handed them to the girl. She snagged them and proceeded to greet the delivery man. He wasn't sure from Phoenix's expression whether offering the money was appreciated or had been overstepping his bounds, but the memory of the girl being excited over free food had been primary in his thoughts. Between his work and an inheritance he wanted little to do with, Miles had more money than he could reasonably spend on his narrow interests and needs. He seldom had the opportunity to spend it on others.

Minutes later, when the food had been passed out, Miles studied a slice with narrowed eyes. He seldom touched pizza, but despite Phoenix's joke, he _had_ eaten the stuff before. From those experiences he remembered that it tended toward greasiness and that the fine silk of his cravat was nearly impossible to have cleaned after that one stray drop. "Could I please get a knife and fork?"

Phoenix shot him a disbelieving look and swallowed down what he was chewing. "Just take it off, Edgeworth."

"Knife and fork, please."

With a long-suffering groan Phoenix pushed himself off his chair and soon returned with the requested silverware, along with the cake Miles had purchased. He handed Miles his utensils, placed the cake on the coffee table and set some plastic plates and forks on top of its cover, and whispered "biggest dork in the world" before retaking his seat. Ignoring him, Miles primly ate his dinner. Subsequent eyerolls from Phoenix were also ignored. He still said nothing when Phoenix disregarded the divisions between the cake's tiny slices and helped himself to three pieces, and then forked in a huge chunk that would be adventurous even for a bland cake from a boxed mix.

"It feels like chocolate just punched me in the face," Phoenix said after he managed to swallow.

"Did you overlook or simply ignore the recommended serving size?" Miles asked mildly.

"I'm not _complaining._"

"I want to try some, too," Trucy said with sparkling eyes.

There weren't as many leftovers as he'd expected to be leaving the Wrights.

When they resumed the game, he was disappointed to note that it was almost over. This _had_ been fun, and not in any relation to his bet with Gavin.

By mutual agreement, the teams decided that they could choose one person from the other group to ask the final question to, hoping to add back in one spike of the difficulty they'd stripped away with their collective approach. It came as little surprise that, when Miles' team ended up in the center first, all three defense attorneys pointed their fingers right at Trucy. The girl swallowed, nodded, and said bravely, "Bring it on."

They scanned the card for a question to select and began murmuring between themselves. Miles idly wondered whether Phoenix would push his daughter or go easy on her, and tilted his head in curiosity when he heard Apollo say something about how yes, Mr. Wright, this one would be tricky, you're right, it was from way before she was born. (He assumed the boy had meant to whisper the comment; his voice did tend toward the loud side.) That settled it, and with a smirk, Phoenix raised the card to read their selected question. His hand covered the back. "Which city hosted the first Olympic Games of the twenty-first century?"

Trucy leapt off the couch, arms a triumphant arc in the air. "Salt Lake City! I win! We win!"

"What?" Phoenix blinked.

"I watch videos of old opening ceremonies for the effects! Salt! Lake! City! 2002!"

"No, it's—"

"Don't say Sydney, Mr. Wright," Ema said. When she wasn't popping in more snacks (how did she fit all of that food?), she was grinning like some smug, glasses-bedecked cat perched there on the end of the sofa. "2000 would be the last games of the twentieth."

"Not Sydney, Athens! 2004! Olympics means the _real_ Olympics!" Phoenix protested. "The Winter Games came in later! If you don't specify winter, then you have to assume that the question is asking about the first year with summer games!"

"Do they use the same logo, Wright?" Miles asked, not allowing himself a satisfied grin to match Ema's. He kept on his most serious courtroom face. "Have the same organizing body? Apply the same copyright laws to merchants selling unauthorized merchandise?" Phoenix glowered at the card. It was increasingly clear that he'd outsmarted himself. "Check the evidence," Miles added and Phoenix looked up, brow furrowed. "You _did_ read the answer before you asked the question, right?"

Phoenix turned a sheepish smile to his associates, both of whom looked highly annoyed. He flipped the card over, stared at it in silence, and returned it to the box without further word. "The night's still young!" he said, clapping his hands together. "Let's do something else!"

"Daddy," Trucy said warningly. _"Daddy."_

"Congratulations, Trucy," Phoenix mumbled. "Congratulations, Ema. Congratulations, Edgeworth."

Trucy shot her arms into the air again and crowed her victory to the ceiling, before flinging her arms around Miles and squeezing him tightly. "We won!" she said. "I knew we would!"

He oofed, eyes wide, and instinctively leaned away from the unexpected touch. Only for a few breaths, though; after that surprise, Miles relaxed and reached around with his free arm to pat her on the shoulder. "Well done." Trucy's grip on him tightened before she released, and she gladly accepted Ema's high five before flopping back on the couch in a sloppy, proud heap.

For the rest of the night, Miles learned about the Wright family house rules for Monopoly, Godzilla and all. (A key part of the strategy was distracting the other team so that random objects could be lobbed at the board to dislodge any buildings. Asteroid attacks, Trucy called them.) Just as Phoenix was about to declare a victory, Miles raised his hand high. "Objection! You can't expect us to pay rent for these properties!"

"And why not?" Phoenix asked with a raised eyebrow. "The National Guard took out Godzilla three turns back. We're back into normal play."

Miles lifted his chin proudly. "With the latest addition, you've passed construction limits on a single piece of property. California tenant laws forbid taking on new lessees at this time." His eyebrow raised to match Phoenix's. "I've been reviewing those laws, as you well know."

"Objection!" Phoenix said right back. Beside Miles, Trucy pumped her fist. Apparently, she'd been hoping for this exchange. "Monopoly doesn't take place in California. It's based on Atlantic City, and unless you also have knowledge of New Jersey tenant law, we have no choice but to go with the limits set in the game's instruction manual!"

_...Damn._

"Admit it," Phoenix said at the end of the evening, when they'd finished their games and both teams were contenting themselves with their single victory. He and Miles were at their front door, Miles' shirtsleeves still at his elbows and his jacket slung over one shoulder, and both men were smiling. "You had fun."

"Do I look like someone trying to conceal that fact?" Miles asked. "I did. I had fun."

"Oh." Phoenix studied him. "I guess so. I'm still getting used to you admitting that kind of thing without a fight. Or a murder trial beforehand." He hesitated before reaching up and clapping Miles on the shoulder, squeezing firmly before dropping his hand. "Thanks for giving it a shot in the first place. You couldn't really see Trucy's face with how she was sitting right next to you, but she was _so_ happy tonight."

"Good. I'm glad." Awkwardness began to swell. "Well, I do have work tomorrow, and..."

"Yeah, but no one's going to get anything done, right?" Phoenix asked. It took Miles a second to remember what he meant by that, and Phoenix had already moved on by the time he did. "Uh, speaking of. You and Franziska are probably busy on Thursday, right? I mean, I'm sure that's why she's flying in tomorrow."

"Franziska is German, Wright. She doesn't celebrate Thanksgiving." Miles smirked. "But she did happen to book the worst possible day in the year to make this flight into the States." The additional travel headaches would make her hell to deal with, but her lack of foresight and research would also be something to tease her about. A timezone and layover hangover lasted for a day, but sibling rivalry was forever.

"Oh. Right. Well, if you don't have plans, you could always swing by." Phoenix folded his arms—damn, those forearms, again—and shrugged. "You know. If you wanted to. Unless you're planning on some fancy dinner at the fancy hotel restaurant."

"Wright," Miles said gravely. "It will be my first day hosting my sister. She will have just dealt with transatlantic and cross-continental flights. She has a two hour layover scheduled in Newark, but there is a snowstorm threatening the Northeast and so it may be worse. Even in first class, she sometimes cannot sleep on planes. She is likely to be in a terrible mood, even for her."

"So you can't abandon her in the hotel," Phoenix concluded. "Not after she came here to see you. That's totally fair. I get it. No harm, no foul."

"Exactly." Amusement pulled at his carefully controlled expression. "So, I'll have to see whether she'd actually be up for stopping by here or not."

"You're... inviting Franziska to Thanksgiving," Phoenix said slowly. "Jetlagged, irritated Franziska."

"I believe you invited her. After all, you did say that I couldn't abandon her in the hotel."

"If you two show up," Phoenix said after a long pause, "I'll just get her drunk before she starts whipping the turkey."

Miles laughed, a sincere sound he'd almost forgotten how to make for much of his life, and adjusted the grip on his jacket. "Thank you for the invitation tonight, Wright. I'm glad I changed my mind."

"So am I," Phoenix said. "Night."

"Good night," Miles said, and walked to his car. As he drove off into the night, all he could think was, _This was so much better than a new computer._


	6. Chapter 6

"You are screwed, Fop," Ema said. She dropped a stack of reports onto Klavier's desk from on high and smirked when they slid out of their neat stack. "S-C-R-E-W-E-D."

"Is that an invitation, fräulein?" Klavier asked and got the glare he'd aimed for.

"Mr. Edgeworth was _perfect_ last night," Ema said as Klavier tapped the papers back into order. She propped her hands on his desk and leaned in close, the better to gloat. Such a pretty face, if you ignored her permanent sour mood. "Mr. Wright couldn't believe it." She tilted her head. "I couldn't believe it, actually. Not that I lack any confidence in him, but still, seeing Trucy wrapping him in a bear hug was way beyond my expectations."

The pit of Klavier's stomach began a steady descent. "A bear hug?" he repeated unhappily. "Wright's daughter?" If their challenge were about legal issues, he wouldn't terribly mind a loss to Miles Edgeworth. For being _personable and likable,_ though, it was actually quite a blow to his ego. Charisma and friendliness were Klavier's niche. "How much money did he spend?" he asked in a last gasp effort. If he could explain away that girl's hug through, oh, buying her a pony...

Ema considered the question. "Well, he brought a cake and some drinks, and paid for enough pizza for six people. I can only estimate, since I didn't ask for receipts. I should do that."

"Cake and pizza?" Klavier echoed. He'd expected Edgeworth to buy Wright a three thousand dollar set of law texts, and instead the man gave an apparently perfect social performance with no other props than cake and pizza? Since when did Edgeworth enjoy himself at any social gathering that centered on _cake and pizza?_ This was the same boss who'd refused a department Christmas party and had caused the holiday-minded prosecutors to plan their own at a nearby bar.

It wasn't that Klavier thought he might lose. If he and Ema had a technological wager, he might surprise her once, but she would easily come out on top by the end. Just as surely, he would triumph over Edgeworth in a bet about socialization. Still, he was going to have to come out of the gate faster than he'd expected, and he didn't enjoy being proven wrong. "Well," he continued when he determined that Ema was content to simply look down on him, silent and smug, "I'll be making my first move this evening, before I collect Prosecutor von Karma from LAX."

Ema's eyebrow quirked. "Oh? What's the plan?" Klavier reached into his desk drawer and retrieved three neon plastic bracelets. He set them before her for an answer and she picked up one curiously. "And what am I looking at, exactly?" Silently, he reached into the drawer again and pulled out the accompanying tickets. Realization hit when they were paired and Ema could identify VIP entrance packages. "I heard about this," she said as she studied the tickets. "Didn't this concert sell out in twenty minutes? Months ago?"

"Ja," Klavier said with a grin. Infinity Eight, those well-established and well-decorated songsters, had paired themselves with the latest pop princess dominating the world scene, Irena Bell. Either could have launched a successful tour, and so there was initial confusion when they appeared to be cutting into each other's profits by pairing up. When they announced tours exclusively centered upon the world's largest arenas, those arenas invariably sold out in less than an hour, and their fame surged even higher as a result of the frenzy, a lot of entertainment journalists had to reassess their criticisms.

"Dare I ask how much a scalper charged for these?" she asked, wiggling the tickets under his nose. "And why you got _three?"_

"I paid nothing," Klavier said with a smile. _If Herr Edgeworth doesn't need to spend money like water, I certainly don't._

Her eyebrows dipped. "Then how...? I mean, there were no seats left. Zero. Even the radio stations have given all of theirs away by now." She'd paid attention to those contests, had she? Perhaps she was a little more excited about the concert than she'd let on.

He tapped the VIP bracelets. "They're not for seats, fräulein. We'll be in a luxury box overlooking the arena, feasting on cuisine from the finest chefs in Los Angeles. They were happy to welcome me and my guests. And I requested three, of course, because I wanted to invite both Herr Forehead and our lovely judge." Ah, there was a reaction he'd always hoped to earn from Ema. Klavier had only seen that look on women's faces before when they were so ready for him that they were dripping. _Ema is a secret Irena fangirl, apparently. I would wager money on her trying to buy some of those tickets when they first went on sale._

"So... I wouldn't have to sit next to you or anything," Ema said after that long beat of staring hungrily at the VIP bracelet.

"Nein. You could sit back and observe me working my magic on Herr Forehead while feasting on all the food that's offered to you."

"That's..." Ema closed her eyes. When she next spoke, it sounded like she was tearing a scab loose. "I can't."

What? That was as big a surprise as Miles Edgeworth, Social Butterfly. "And why's that?"

"I just stopped by to drop off these reports to the prosecutors waiting for them," Ema said, staring at the bracelets again. "And answer any questions they had about the cases."

"And?" Klavier prompted.

"And... and then I'm taking a cab to the airport. Lana's flight gets in soon. She's here for Thanksgiving, I haven't seen her in months, and I can't just leave her in my apartment to go to a concert." Ema took a deep breath and steeled herself. "I _can't_ just leave her in my apartment. Look, Fop, I'll just give you one of my cameras to take and you can record everything that you do. That way I can analyze it after she leaves, and—"

"I _could_ just request that they courier over another ticket and bracelet for your sister, you know," Klavier said, amused.

A thin noise came from deep in Ema's throat. Klavier idly wondered if she was even aware she'd made it; Ema wasn't very practiced with being excited about things. After a few long seconds, her typical disinterest slid on like a mask. "Scientifically speaking, firsthand observation would be the best way to record your performance. Lana has a direct flight, so she shouldn't be too tired to attend. It starts at 7?"

"I'll pick you both up at 6:30," Klavier said smoothly. "We'll be in that box with stars as big as me, fräulein. Dress to impress."

She folded her arms across her chest and smirked. "Stars as big as you, or stars as big as you _think_ you are?"

He smiled back, ungoaded. Klavier Gavin might not be as huge a name as he was at the height of the Gavinners' touring days, but they both knew he still had fame to spare. "Both. And give my warmest welcome to your sister, bitte; I look forward to meeting Prosecutor Skye."

"I. Well. Right. I'll see you and Justice at 6:30, then." Ema leaned forward and scribbled her address, then collected her remaining files with detachment that, for once, looked totally unbelievable. "This is a very interesting move, Gavin. I'll be curious to see its effects." She turned on her heel and left before he could reply. Her steps looked lighter than normal.

_Gott, I'm good._ Klavier tucked the bracelets and tickets neatly away, then texted his request for one more visitor to be added to his invitation. Someone replied near-instantly; that was one thing this city did better than almost anywhere else.

The whole thing might well be won for him by this single night. It would impress Apollo, of course, and having a fourth there might actually work to Klavier's benefit. Klavier had given a lot of attention to both Ema and Apollo, and he'd also given quite a lot of a _certain kind_ of highly visible attention to young Detective Skye. Viewed the wrong way, this concert with only the three of them, in a dark room with an open bar, might be seen as some sort of collective seduction attempt. (Klavier would certainly be up for such an outcome, but this was about what Apollo wanted. Chances were, the young man would prefer a different end to his evening. A pity, really.) With Lana Skye there? Klavier would simply look like a friend innocently sharing the benefits of his station in life.

But, based on that reaction from Ema, his easy victory would come from winning over the judges themselves. Franziska was primed to be in his corner. She'd already gotten delayed by a snowstorm on the east coast, and the last Klavier had heard, she was being rerouted through Chicago... where another storm was threatening O'Hare. It was safe to say that von Karma would be in by midnight at the earliest, exhausted and angry at the world like only poor air travel experiences could cause. Klavier would be the knight in shining armor who saved her from the airport, and Edgeworth would be the poor soul who actually had to deal with her mood _and_ her disgust over their wager once the hotel doors were closed.

_I should start picking out the restaurant for my victory dinner,_ Klavier thought merrily. _The fräuleins will be falling all over themselves to hand me the win._

"Gavin."

Klavier jerked at Edgeworth's stern voice from the doorway. "Er. Ah. Ja?" _Damn his timing!_

Edgeworth eyed him coolly, and for one ridiculous second Klavier wondered if the man had somehow developed telepathy and heard all of his silent gloating. In the next, Edgeworth turned his glare to the empty hallway; when he looked back at Klavier, it had nearly vanished. "I'm glad to see that at least _one_ of my senior prosecutors is actually at work today. What's your certainty on closing the Dawson trial this afternoon? Otherwise, it'll be drawn out until Monday with the holiday closures."

Glancing at his wall clock, Klavier looked back at Edgeworth and smiled. "The trial resumes in forty-five minutes. I expect a verdict in ninety."

"Oh?"

Klavier lifted a manila envelope; Edgeworth took the hint, entered his office, and retrieved it. He studied the files inside with a seemingly impassive expression, though Klavier knew that he was analyzing every last letter of that report. "It's not Dawson's boy selling out the company; it's Herr Traitor, here. I have all the proof I need."

"And the likelihood that you're trying to convict the right person today?" Edgeworth asked with emphasis on the last word. This new target meant that Klavier's previous day in the courtroom had been directed at the wrong man. Although Edgeworth understood the impossibility of arresting the right people all the time, it never made him happy to see. Klavier didn't mind, though; they both knew the right verdict was the key goal, not departmental efficiency or win records. That often made them unlikely allies during office meetings.

"Ninety-five percent." Klavier grinned at the expected frown. "But after his testimony? One hundred."

"Right, then," Edgeworth said after a long pause, and shoved the report back into the envelope. As he returned it to Klavier, he continued, "As I said, you are the only senior prosecutor I've been able to find in his office. I would have preferred to give this to someone who's not facing a potential third trial day on Monday, but if you're certain you'll be done by then... the bank robbery case is yours."

Klavier's eyes widened. "The Lipps case?" _Score!_

"Er, yes." Edgeworth, frowning, adjusted his glasses. It was clear he found Ruby's stage name ridiculous. "I know you wanted it; you made no secret of that. Can I ask what, exactly, is drawing you to it?"

"Drag troupes and ice cream," Klavier said like it was self-evident. When Edgeworth continued to eye him like Klavier was some strange and fascinating insect, he added, "And puppies."

Finally, Edgeworth relaxed. "I suppose I can understand _that_ appeal. Well, it's yours. You do have the holiday weekend if you would prefer to get a jump on the investigation before the courts resume," he added in a voice that said he certainly expected as much, especially after he'd granted Klavier the favor of this case.

"Thanks," Klavier said, inclining his head. "I'll be sure to take advantage. Sometimes you need a Deutschländer on the job, right?" he added with a wide, white grin. Thanksgiving was a charming enough holiday, but nothing he planned his life around. The Paynes, meanwhile, were both off at some enormous family reunion in Indiana.

"I suppose so," Edgeworth said dryly. "Speaking of Germany, when you pick up my sister, please text me when you're twenty minutes from the hotel. I'll get things ready for her."

"You've got it."

"You always become annoyingly informal by the end of our meetings, Gavin," Edgeworth informed him before he swept out in search of someone else to harangue. This was the man who'd been so friendly the night before? Pfft. Clearly, Ema's crush was speaking for her.

_Thank you, Herr Librarian_, Klavier thought merrily as he picked up his phone. _You've just given me the perfect excuse to approach dear Justice._ "I'm about to be your favorite person in the entire world, Forehead," he said when Apollo answered.

"Don't you think you're _always_ everyone's favorite person?" Apollo asked, with more of an edge to his voice than Klavier expected. Hmm, they must be having a bad day at the Anything Agency.

"I got the Lipps case and have the whole holiday weekend to investigate, but authority to start contacting people right now. If you'd like me to put in a word for you as the defense...?"

"Oh. That case. Right. I don't know," Apollo said after a long pause.

"You don't know?" Klavier repeated, surprised. Apollo didn't tend to admit uncertainty, not to him. It was all sarcasm and "I'm fine" and whatnot, no matter how welcoming Klavier tried to be. He glanced at the clock again and said, "I need to be in court soon, but let's say we meet for coffee afterward, ja? I'll tell you more about the case. Ja? Jaaa?" he tried, drawing out the word until Apollo replied.

"Fine," Apollo grumbled, and muttered something like, "I want to get out of here, anyway."

There was definitely trouble in paradise. "I'll let you know when I'm out, Forehead," Klavier promised, "and I'll swing by that coffeeshop just around the corner from your work. The one with the brick inside?" Apollo grunted something that was probably an assent, and Klavier, unable to help himself, made a ridiculous kissing noise into the phone. Yes, it would earn an eyeroll from the other man, but wasn't that better than Apollo sounding so damned _unhappy?_ "'Til then."

The Dawson trial was over even sooner than Klavier had expected. The executive thought he'd been so careful with covering his trail that he panicked when confronted with Klavier's stacks of analysis and evidence. All too quickly, Klavier was texting his victory to Apollo and straddling his motorcycle for the ride toward his office. Recognition came from passersby as as he parked his bike, removed his helmet, and tossed his hair to fluff it, but he only smiled at them and never stopped. Apollo was inside already, easy to find but with a stance that warded off anyone who dared approach. Klavier walked over, anyway. "Are you well, Forehead?"

Apollo jerked up. His hair, compressed as he held his head, leapt back to attention as he slammed his palms flat on the table. "I—I'm fine!" He didn't look it. His sometimes-fragile confidence was visibly shaken and he looked as young as his years. Worse, he viewed Klavier as someone with whom he needed to pretend. They were still like this?

Weighing the risks, Klavier went with his gut and took the last steps toward the table. He pulled out a chair, flipped and straddled it, and leaned closer to the young man. "It takes a little practice, but you don't need to fear Herr Edgeworth." Apollo's shock confirmed his suspicions.

"How... how did you...?"

It had been a guess, but an easy one. Edgeworth had been at the same party as Justice, and Klavier had witnessed just that morning that, even when Edgeworth was supposedly in a good mood, he was still abrasive. Add that to a previous lack of interaction between the two men and it was simple enough to suspect that things hadn't gone well. Klavier settled on, "I heard you were both at the same party last night, and I thought he probably, well... acted like himself."

Apollo groaned. "Yeah. He started talking about a case of mine he'd watched, and then he asked me about it and..." His shoulders drooped. "I choked. I completely choked. I was in front of someone whose cases I've studied inside and out and I _choked._"

"I'm sure it wasn't that bad, ja?" Klavier listened patiently as Apollo detailed Edgeworth's chain of custody hypothetical about the murder weapon, then shook his head. "You did nothing wrong, Forehead."

"I made an idiot out of myself!"

"Herr Librarian picked something implausible to test you on a mere technicality." Klavier smiled and nudged Apollo's wrist where he was again propping up his bowed head. "You wouldn't see me doing something like that. Clearly, the fingerprints were the same. No point in proving otherwise."

Apollo didn't give him the reassured smile Klavier wanted as he looked up; in fact, he seemed oddly hurt. "Herr Librarian?"

"Was?" Klavier asked, blinking. "Oh." He chuckled. "I dubbed him our resident 'sexy librarian.' Just to get under his skin when he was being a little too _Edgeworth._ You should have seen his face."

"I didn't realize you had nicknames for him, too," Apollo said slowly.

"...I don't have to," Klavier said. "You're right. That doesn't have the ring of 'Forehead,' anyway." Though Apollo tried to hide it, a ghost of a smile crossed his lips. _He likes that I have a nickname just for him,_ Klavier thought with satisfaction.

The good mood was fleeting. "Anyway, I choked. Mr. Wright had to _rescue_ me like I was some kid." Apollo clenched his fists. "And it just kept getting worse! I'd screw up questions because I was so off my game, and Mr. Wright and Mr. Edgeworth were having some sort of... weird senior lawyer vibe where they kept rubbing it in everyone's faces that they knew things about each other, and then I accidentally asked Ema about her period! Which I freaked about, of course, in front of everyone. Again." Apollo's voice pitched louder. "And then I hear this morning that _he's showing up for Thanksgiving!"_

"Hmm?" Klavier asked, busy analyzing what Apollo might mean by 'weird senior lawyer vibe.' "Oh. Oh, it'll be fine." Apollo had asked Ema about her period? That was hilarious, actually. Apollo had probably leapt halfway across the room; he seemed the type to get flustered by that sort of thing.

"It was supposed to be just us," Apollo grumbled. "With having my own place now, I hardly see them."

Klavier eyed him. "Don't you have a studio down the hallway from the Wrights?"

"It's still my own place!" Apollo flung his arms across his chest as Klavier motioned to a passing employee for coffee and muffins. "I can't believe he invited Mr. Edgeworth tomorrow. I still feel stupid, but I'd look like a coward if I didn't go."

"You are _not_ stupid," Klavier insisted. "You wouldn't be my favorite defense attorney if you were."

"Maybe you just think I'm an easy mark," Apollo snorted, although the complaint seemed more kneejerk than anything. He hesitated before asking, "You really called him a...?"

"Sexy librarian," Klavier confirmed cheerfully as they were handed their muffins. "He needed to loosen up!"

_"How?"_ Apollo asked in disbelief. "He's won huge cases in six different countries, taught at the best law schools in three, and now he's the chief prosecutor for the biggest county in the U.S.!" Look at all that trivia; someone really had been studying up on the man. "And he's your _boss!"_

Klavier accepted his drink with a smile and a wink as he considered Apollo's question; Apollo, meanwhile, studied his mocha like it held the solution to every problem in his life. "I have a lot of practice," Klavier eventually said, his good mood fading, "with not being intimidated by someone with a few years on me and a poor sense of humor." There it was: the topic that united them but they seldom breached. For all that Apollo had been shaken by learning the truth about his mentor, he knew better than anyone that Klavier had taken the worst of the blows. "No matter how frightening others might find him."

After a few long sips, Apollo quietly said, "You know, that's probably not the best comparison to make if you don't want me to be freaked out about the guy."

Klavier smiled wanly. "Well, unlike mein bruder, my boss is a good man." Suddenly desperate to change the topic, he said, "But I can't blame you for how you feel, and who'd want him over for the holidays? What you need is a distraction."

"A distraction?" Apollo echoed. He really was unhappy; Apollo was seldom so open to whatever Klavier suggested.

"How would you like to attend a concert tonight?" Klavier asked, more brightly than he felt. Any mention of Kristoph always left him at least a little sick and hollow. "VIP package, luxury box, and free food while we listen to Infinity and Irena."

"Oh. Ah." Apollo rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "Thanks, but I don't really like loud music."

"You... don't like loud music," Klavier repeated, dumbstruck. Visions of Edgeworth's ill-advised law texts filled his head, except that _Klavier_ had been the one to make the wrong move. How had he not known that Justice didn't like concerts? And he _should_ like them! Klavier did concerts! Or used to, at least.

"Sorry," Apollo said. "I think it's the perceiving, you know? Really loud music can kind of overwhelm me." _This from him and his Chords of Steel?_

Mouth gaping in disbelief, Klavier thought fast. "We... wouldn't be near the speakers, not in the luxury box. It's going to be full of celebrities. They network at things like this, you know? Can't do that if you can't hear each other." He nodded as Apollo started considering that. "Ema's coming, too, along with her sister. It'll be a fun night out for all of us!" He leaned in close and winked. "With no old man lawyers around to reminisce."

"Okay, she's not a man, but Prosecutor Skye is older than either of them," Apollo said, unable to let the mistake slip past. (Of course he knew of the woman, Klavier thought with amusement.) "I... okay, sure. If it's going to be all of us, then it sounds fun. Thanks. It'll be nice to spend some time out of the house before I have to deal with tomorrow." He started tearing apart the last of his blueberry muffin, paused, and jabbed a pastry chunk toward Klavier. "Wait, isn't this concert a big fancy deal?"

Klavier nodded proudly.

"Then why are you taking _me?_ Or even Ema? I mean, I know you flirt with her, but wouldn't a date, uh." Apollo coughed. "Respond better to something like this? I don't get it."

"I flirt with both of you," Klavier corrected shamelessly, and chuckled at Apollo's frown. "But I invited _you_, Forehead, because you are my favorite. I wasn't kidding when I said that. Yes, I could bring a fan in a latex minidress easily enough. But we couldn't talk about the Lipps case." Looking down at the remaining crumbs, he added quietly, "And she wouldn't see me as a man who'd lost friends and family, simply as the image she already had of me in her mind. I do enjoy being a... person."

"You mean that you try but still don't impress me," Apollo said wryly.

"You might find it hard to believe, but that can be appealing." Klavier winked. "And I know that I impress you _sometimes."_

"Will you stop winking at everyone? It looks like you have sand in your eye."

Klavier laughed, long and loud, and leaned close to Apollo. When he rested his hand on the other man's, Apollo didn't pull away. "Just like that, Forehead. I love it. Be ready at six? I'll stop by and we'll pick up the lovely Skyes."

For one long second Apollo looked ready to renege on their agreement, but he nodded. "Sounds good. See you then, Prosecutor Gavin."

"Klavier?" he prompted gently.

The eyeroll Apollo gave him seemed rote at best. "Klavier," Apollo repeated. "See you then, _Klavier."_

"Man sieht sich," Klavier said, squeezed Apollo's wrist not covered by his bracelet, and stood. "Coffee's on me," he added as he threw some bills on the table. "But now I'd better check in back at work before the big bossman notices I didn't come straight back from the courthouse."

"I knew you were scared of him!" Apollo said with satisfaction.

"I'm not scared, but I'm also not an idiot," Klavier said. "So... you never answered. Should I put in a good word for you as the defense? I'll be talking with Ruby and her troupe this weekend." At Apollo's hesitation he added, "It'd just be you and me in the courtroom, Forehead. No unfair questions about fireplace pokers."

"You know... it _was_ unfair, wasn't it?" Apollo replied with a frown. "Okay. Do it. I'll see you in court."

"After you go with me to the concert."

"Yeah, yeah."

Klavier grinned all the way back to his office, and only partly from the success of his invitation. Apollo had looked close to broken when they started talking, but by the end he was ready to agree that Edgeworth _had_ done something unfair. Pulling him back from the emotional brink after his hero worship had gone poorly was a prize all on its own. The rest of the day passed in a blur of post-trial reports, holiday preparation, and wincing at each new delay in von Karma's flights. (She was going to be _furious._) "I'll text you when I'm close to the hotel!" he confirmed with Edgeworth at a shout as he left the Prosecutor's Office, and sped home to perfect his look to even greater heights.

"Those are ridiculous," Apollo laughed as Klavier greeted him in leather pants two sizes smaller than his work attire.

"By which you mean 'stunning,'" Klavier said, turning and splaying his hands in the perfect position to frame his vacuum-sealed ass.

"By which I mean ridiculous!" Apollo joined him in the hallway but hesitated as he locked the door. Forehead looked quite nice, himself; he'd swapped out the tomato-red suit for tight jeans and a band t-shirt under a crisp jacket. He looked young again, but not for any lack of confidence. "I don't have to, uh, sit behind you on your motorcycle, do I?"

"That's why I wore the tight pants," Klavier said silkily, and grinned when Apollo looked suspiciously at him, then his bracelet. "No. We have two others to pick up; of course I brought a car." _He didn't reject the idea outright,_ Klavier hummed as they strapped themselves into his convertible. He'd tame this skittish colt yet.

Ema was a vision when she climbed into the back seat. He'd known the woman was pretty, but with her hair in loose waves and deliberately applied makeup, she was stunning. All of a sudden she had things like _bare legs_ and _cleavage_ and _smiles_, although the latter were only directed at the older woman who joined her. "Prosecutor Gavin," said Lana Skye politely. She'd probably been every bit as gorgeous as Ema when she was younger, and was still beautiful, but prison had added a few years onto their already significant age gap. No one looking at the two women would see anything but a mother and daughter; a very attractive mother and daughter, mind. "Thank you for the invitation. This will certainly be a memorable trip to L.A. I hadn't realized Ema was friends with the famous Klavier Gavin; she never mentions you to me."

Apollo laughed into his hand.

_Well,_ Klavier thought wryly as he set his Jag back into motion, _I wanted people who wouldn't fawn all over me._

Rush hour coupled with the holiday made for absolutely hellish traffic, and so Klavier kept mostly silent during the drive downtown. Between lane changes and turns he heard little snippets, though, all of which left him quite satisfied. Apollo had a respectful introduction to Lana. Lana was happy about the concert and liked Infinity Eight. Ema was happy that Lana was happy. Lana was happy to hear about Apollo's boss, and even said to Ema that they should stop by to say hello. All light, frivolous, and completely beneficial for Klavier's goals.

"This way," Klavier directed their group as they approached the massive arena. He signed a few autographs—even in the dark, he was identifiable—but steadily herded their quartet away from the main stream of fans and toward a side entrance. Sky-searching spotlights and buzzing crowds were left behind as he presented the security guard their bracelets and tickets, and they stepped inside the private stairwell.

"I didn't even know this existed," Ema said as she adjusted the bracelet around her arm. "I've investigated here, but..."

"Knowing the right people always opens up certain doors," Lana said. There was a weight to her words that Klavier didn't quite like, but nothing serious enough to follow up on. Besides, his focus for the night wasn't the Skye women. Let Ema reconnect with her sister all she liked, so long as she saw everything that Klavier was doing for Apollo. The young man had gone mute and startled as an Oscar winner brushed past them with a polite nod.

"There are _actually_ celebrities in there," Apollo whispered after swallowing down his surprise. "Just like you said."

Klavier cleared his throat.

"We've already established that you don't count," Ema said, grinning.

"I watch _all of his movies_," Apollo hissed as he saw another actor walk past. He gripped Klavier's sleeve and held it as they stepped into the luxury box proper. _"AndisthatCaptainHall?"_

"Who?" Klavier asked, looking around the dark room.

"Captain Hall! From Penumbra!" Apollo gawked at Klavier's cluelessness, and tried to point at a woman in snakeskin pants and a halter top without her noticing. "Only the biggest TV show to launch for this _entire season!_"

Klavier frowned and tried to recall the appropriate television commercials. "Oh, the science fiction one."

"Yes!" Apollo squeaked. "It's her! She... she looks so different when she's not blue!"

Laughing, Klavier pushed Apollo further into the room. The bank of windows at its edge showed a concert arena swarming with excited crowds and swirling lights, but for now, that was secondary to the huge names watching from the leather sofas in their luxury box. "Does this make up for your bad night with the old man lawyers, Forehead?"

"Miles Who?" Apollo replied, dazed.

Klavier shot a weighty look at Ema. She rolled her eyes, and her thumbs-up looked like she'd rather break that thumb than use it to praise him, but she still gave it. "Whatever," she mouthed before she pulled her sister over to a corner to revel in their good fortune.

_I'm going to win,_ Klavier thought smugly as he slung his arm around Apollo's shoulders and steered him toward the windows nearest the stage. _I'm going to win big._ And, from the smiles that still replaced his earlier broken expression, Apollo was going to come out of this as just as much of a victor.

That was even better than winning any bet.


End file.
